


Under the Setting Suns

by ChelseaDear



Series: Tides of War [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Asymmetric Warfare, Battle, Biting, Character Growth, Dry Humping, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Found Family, Identity Issues, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Oral Sex, Panic Attack, Paz isn't allowed near the speeders anymore, Post S2, Praise Kink, Recovery, Reunions, Slow Burn, Tags will be added as I write, Threesome, Trauma, Unresolved Tension, Unresolved Trauma, some fluff for good measure, subtle, unconventional warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 75
Words: 135,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28231341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelseaDear/pseuds/ChelseaDear
Summary: Lost, without directive, and in need ofsomethingfamiliar, The Mandalorian finds himself on Tatooine once more.If his story ended there, though, it wouldn't be much of a story, would it?Explicit chapters: 3, 13, 21, 24, 35, 43, 56, 67, 73
Relationships: Cobb Vanth/Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth/Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla, The Armorer/Peli
Series: Tides of War [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155209
Comments: 910
Kudos: 545





	1. Already Defeated

There was no ceremony to the aftermath.

Gideon was taken to prison, unconscious, and The Mandalorian took the bounty and split it as equally as everyone who'd helped him rescue his child would let him.

_“We would have been dead if that Jedi hadn't shown up,”_ Cara told him, _“And Gideon would have lived.”_

Bo-Katan said nothing, took nothing, her anger that _she_ had not been the one to retrieve the Dark Saber a thing with a near-tangible form. He had found neither words or space to tell her that he was already defeated; everything he knew about the world, about himself, was _already defeated_ in ways he could never recover from.

He may never know who he was now, who he'd become in the course of just a few heartbeats. A stranger had stolen Din Djarin's armor, but there would be no one who could avenge the theft.

They'd gone their separate ways, in the end, the three in Mandalorian armor who he could not bring himself to call Mandalorian saying near nothing to him. He was sure they would be back eventually, sure they would find him so Bo-Katan could challenge him to a proper fight. He didn't care.

He was already defeated.

He'd gone with Boba and Fennec and Cara in Boba's ship with no plan in mind. His helmet, removed to say goodbye to the child – his child – stayed tucked under his arm, it's sharpest edge digging into his hip despite the padding his clothes offered. Cara glanced over at him time and time again as if it was a subtle worry she carried with her and not a flare she sent to the other two in the ship with every glance.

He turned Grogu's favorite toy over and over again between his fingers as he cursed himself for not letting the kid take it with him. One last moment, one last show of his abilities, a little piece of the Mandalorian who found him to carry with him.

But no, he'd been selfish and kept it as a reminded of the child he could have had, the father he could have been had he taken Ahsoka's advice and let Grogu's abilities fade until he held no more potential within him than any other child. It was less selfish than doing _that_ would have been, though the affirmation did not help him feel any better about, well, anything.

They dropped Cara off so she could return to her life. She managed not to look over her shoulder as she left the ship, managed not to send off one last flare that suggested Boba or Fennec should _worry_ about him.

“Where should we drop you, Mando?” Boba asked him as if he still deserved the name that wasn't a name.

“You're going back to Tatooine, yeah?” he asked Boba.

“I can,” Boba did not say no, they were not going back to that oversized desert that had no right to hold as much life as it currently did, but is was so far from a yes that it might as well have been a no.

“It's fine,” he said.

“We're going back to Tatooine,” Fennec told them both, these men both clad from the neck-down in armor that no longer served the purpose it had been smithed for.

Boba let out a louder, longer breath than a breath should have been, a bit of frustration leaking out and being smothered again in short order. Whatever relationship these two held, he noted, seemed to put Boba in a position that was not one in which orders were not often given _to_ him.

Still, there was no argument, no words asking why they were now headed to a planet not punched in as their destination. There was a finality about Fennec's declaration that could not be ignored, even by someone who she'd sworn some sort of allegiance that boiled down to a life debt.

They were on their way to Tatooine.

The ride passed by in a haze, the world around him almost as raw as he was. He hated it, this world that did not first have to pass through his helmet. It was different shades and somehow _dull_ around the edges.

Or maybe it was his edges that had been dulled.

He did not realize they'd arrived at Mos Eisley until the actual landing part of their arrival physically jolted him out of his seat.

He stood up, helmet still tucked under his arm, and his knees tried to buckle. How long had he been sitting, unmoving? He did not know.

He did not want to ask.

“Where will you be going?” Boba asked.

“To see an old friend,” he knew this was the truth as soon as the words left his mouth.

Fennec and Boba exchanged a quick Look, one that told him they had suspicions whoever he was visiting was neither old or a friend. Still, they did not ask and he did not offer answers. Instead, he wasted no more of their time.

He bought a speeder bike outright from some kid who looked like they had never seen that much money at once before. He knew he was overpaying for the rusted piece of junk.

He didn't care.

His first stop was a repair hanger with an affect as reputable as Mos Eisley's spaceport, one he had been to more times than he ever cared to visit the same place that was not offering him any work.

Peli and her droids were already outside when he pulled up. As soon as he could make out her face – and, likely, she could make out his face – she drew her blaster. He headed towards her anyways.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded as he drew the speeder to a stop, “Tell me what you did to him before I blow your head clean off.”

“Peli,” he was only mostly sure he did not want that to happen, “Peli, it's me.”

“Well excuse me for calling bullshit,” she kept her blaster drawn and her finger on the trigger.

Was this, we wondered, what it was like to have a friend?

“I found a Jedi,” he knew that would do more for identity verification than anything else he could say, “The kid, he's with his people now.”

Peli dropped her blaster and hugged him.

“Oh honey,” she spoke in a soft voice meant for other people, “I am so sorry.”

“It was what I was meant to do,” he did not understand what she was offering him, did not know this gesture's name was sympathy.

“Doesn't mean it didn't leave a hole behind,” she told him as she took a step back, then two, “What brings you back here, then?”

“I'm not sure,” he was being honest despite no desire for honesty, least of all honesty about his plans.

“Well,” she picked her blasted off the ground and put it back in its holster, “If you want to know how far that bucket of rust will take you, you've come to the right place.”

“It probably should have stopped running before I was born,” he had long forgotten when he was born.

He shut the bike off and dismounted.

“Alright, gang, you know what to do,” she called to her droids, who skittered around the bike as if they were native wildlife curious about the giant metal newcomer instead of made of the same basic materials, “Shouldn't take too long to make sure you can get where ever you're going. Where's your ship, though?”

“Gone,” he told her.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times like she was going to ask him what he meant before she clenched her jaw and looked him up and down a few times.

“Drink?” she offered.

“Yeah,” he said it like a sigh.

Peli did not try to offer him a smile with their drinks.

–

“Speeder's done,” she nudged him awake with her foot, “though I might recommend waiting until morning or bring a lamp or something.”

“When did I -?” he started asking. He wasn't sure how to finish that question. Fall asleep? Let his defenses down so much? Stop drinking?

“About four drinks in,” she answered one of those questions, though he was unsure which, “Nightfall's soon.”

“I,” he looked out at the speeder and felt something not unlike being struck with a blunt rod. He winced away from it, something he had been trained not to let himself do since he was a child.

“Sleep,” she told him. He knew she was treating him not unlike a wounded, wild animal.

It wasn't an entirely wrong impulse.

He was a stranger wearing both a Mandalorian's armor and Din Djarin's face. He may be a wild animal, and he was hurting in ways that had been unimaginable the day before.

“You've lost your child,” she did not need to remind him, “Rest is going to be the best thing for you.”

“He is with his people,” he said as he tried to sit up against the wall to give himself more support.

“Doesn't mean there isn't loss.”

There was something more to her words, something deeper he did not know, could not access within himself but wanted to for reasons he could not explain.

“Sleep,” she tossed him a threadbare blanket as she gave the command.

And, despite everything, he did.

–

He awoke with the sun, its rays too bright and the air too cold. He was still and he _felt_ it. He was not used to this, either, did not understand why he could feel this minor, inconsequential pain when he could normally shut it off.

He staggered to his feet, throat dry and the desert air not helping. 

He shuffled more than walked to the speeder. There was a pack strapped to it that hadn't been there the day before.

“Peli,” he said to himself.

“Knew you didn't come here for me,” Peli's voice came from somewhere inside, “Figured you didn't come here to die, either. It's just some food and water.”

“Thank you,” he meant it.

“Where ever you're going,” she walked outside as she spoke, “just promise me you'll swing by before you leave the planet.”

“Watch my armor,” he'd meant to say it like it was a question and failed, so he decided an added, “please,” would do.

She studied him for a few long moments before she nodded.

He removed his armor piece by piece until only fabric covered his skin. It was padded, yes, and more protection than most had, but he felt naked.

“Thank you,” he said as he mounted the speeder.

He did not look back. If he had, he would have seen Peli watching him go with more worry than she knew she was capable of.

He knew where he was going, even if he wouldn't say it aloud.

He was going to tell one of the only people he'd ever felt could have watch his – could have watch the chi -

He was going to tell Cobb Vanth that that Grogu was with his people and the once-stolen armor was back with its rightful owner.


	2. An Old Friend

Even in the near-dark, Mos Pelgo was exactly as he'd remembered it – a little one-strip mining town, every house and shop and whatever else these people thought they needed in a neat little line. There seemed to be more of them, though, maybe. Or perhaps there were more things nearing the sandy stand-in for a main street, the beast older than the town no longer there to destroy their efforts to reform something that looked like a community.

The speeder was groaning, possibly protesting its forced continued existence and not the sand that had been kicked up and into its engine.

He went to the only building he knew: the bar.

One drink, he promised himself, one drink was far fewer than four.

“What do you want?” the bartender asked. There was a barely veiled snarl to the question. This was not a Mandalorian surprising a mining town that had grown so tired of danger is did not have any worry left when a killer of legends showed up asking after the only man who'd kept the town's people safe.

“What do you recommend?” he asked. His throat felt dry, almost like it might crack if he spoke too loudly.

The bartender snorted and shook his head and poured some milky-brown liquid that swirled in the cup, a miniature galaxy in sepia and pearlescent. 

“Thanks,” he said as he took it. He didn't give it a sniff before he took a sip. It was too sweet but the saccharine curse gave way to a burn that only cheap alcohol could offer. He coughed once and took another sip.

The bartender laughed like it was funny.

He stood there for a while, one elbow always on the bar with his forearm folded in a way that would have crossed his chest if he wasn't leaning forward, other elbow on the bar but that forearm moved from bar to air as it lifted the glass to his lips over and over. His mouth and throat did not manage to adjust to either sweetness or burn, but that didn't stop him from doing his damnedest to finish the thing.

Besides, if he waited long enough, the man he'd come here for would show up.

It didn't take long – far less than half the glass had disappeared in the saccharine-burn-rest-repeat cadence he'd set for himself – before the Marshal showed up.

“We don't get a lot of visitors,” and yes, there it was, that drawl the one-time thief likely didn't even realize he had, “and when we do, they tend to bring something behind them that becomes my problem. So tell me, stranger, what brings you to Mos Pelgo and what might be chasing you so far away from the rest of the cosmos?”

He debated with himself for just a moment, his thoughts going faster than he could keep up with, only providing him with the most base sentiment for each option he had in front of him: he could tell him who he was, be cryptic about it and hope the Marshal was sharp on top of his foolish bravado, or he could become someone else entirely, use the sands of this near-forgotten mining town to wash away both the ghost of the terrified child that was Din Djarin and the shadow of the Mandalorian he could never be again.

“Sounds like a terrible place to leave a child behind, then,” wasn't what he'd meant to say. Still, he'd said it and did not have the energy to try to back track, so he looked right at the Marshal, haunted brown eyes meeting so very alive hazel ones.

The Marshal's eyes narrowed. He had one hand on his blaster that was still in its holster, a subtle thing that told him the Marshal had walked in ready to draw the weapon. News had traveled, then, whispers of this stranger showing up in the no-longer-dying town and asking only for a drink.

As young go to their parents for safety, so too did this town go to its keeper.

But it wasn't safety he was looking for.

“Maybe it would have been,” the Marshal did not remove his hand from his blaster, but his wrist relaxed just enough so that he would have to give warning should he change his mind and decide it needed to be draw, “but times are changing.”

Just barely still in his field of vision, he could see the bartender shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Good change, I hope,” he knew this was when he was supposed to talk, to respond, the first seeds of a conversation sown between them. Conversation had never been his specialty, though. There were no threats to use as benchmarks, no bounty, no _work_ to be done here. There was almost too much bombarding his peripheral senses that intuition would have filtered through his helmet plating that he now had to make sense of on his own. 

“Why don't you come with me,” the Marshal did not say it like a suggestion, “Leave your drink.”

The bartender snorted and he produced a handful of credits before he followed the Marshal. It was a blind sort of procession, the Marshal leading him and the bartender's noises of nearly distressed surprise following him out the door while the bartender stayed with his inanimate charge.

He felt like he was being paraded down Mos Pelgo's main street. He resisted to lock his wrists over each other as if he had been put in restraints. The stares of its weary inhabitants measuring what kind of man had come to their town, what kind of lost soul would find itself in this forgotten place with a storied history of violence, occupation, and monsters.

He wanted to know their judgments so he might find a way to cast an anchor in the seemingly endless possibilities of who he might be now.

The Marshal lead him into a building that looked like nearly all the others, a house on the outside that revealed as much of a house on an inside, no traces of a home in its pale walls and sparse, disorganized furniture. The hydraulic hiss of the door opening and closing was too loud, too much of a departure from the Marshal's silence for him not to have to use too much of his strength to stop himself from startling.

The Marshal whipped around, eyes still narrow and hand just shy of his blaster.

“Prove it,” the Marshal demanded. 

There were no additional instructions, but he did not need any.

“Sorry, I didn't have time to explain,” he hoped the Marshal would find the proof he was looking for in such a simple echo.

The Marshal's hand dropped to his side and his shoulders sagged.

“Mando?” the Marshal asked him, “No, you can't be the Mando.”

He nearly responded with some sort of _I'm not,_ but he still had no plans to get shot here in Mos Pelgo – or anywhere, really – so he bit the self-depreciation back and instead responded with, “What more proof do you need?”

“Where is your child?” the Marshal demanded.

“With his people,” he looked up at this man who could determine his fate with a flick of the wrist, “I reunited him with his people.”

“Why would you go and do that?” there was a tightness to the Marshal's voice.

“His people were the Jedi,” he told the truth in its most stripped-down version.

The Marshal's mouth opened and closed a few times, half-syllables trying to escape before the Marshal cleared his throat and tried again.

“Prove it,” the same demand with an edge that had been sharpened since the first time it was issued.

“You insulted the sand people by not drinking their water,” he closed his eyes as he recited things only the two of them could know, “You got the armor I returned to its rightful owner from Jawas in exchange for a stolen container of silicax crystals. You stopped fighting with those you considered your enemy in time to avoid the resentment tearing us apart. And, from the looks of it, no one in your town has broken the pact with the sand people.”

“Something that you couldn't have gotten from stories told by people who wanted to feel important by telling strangers too much about me,” the Marshal demanded, “Something only Mando would know.”

“You hoped our paths would cross again,” he opened his eyes but did not meet the Marshal's, “I did, too.”

“Shit,” the Marshal hissed as he wiped one hand over his face, bringing his fingers together at the bottom of his chin, “It really is you.”

He answered with a nod,

“Where, what -” the Marshal tried to ask too many questions at once.

“Marshal,” he started to say something.

“Cobb,” the Marshal-Cobb corrected, “After everything, call me Cobb.”

“Cobb,” he tried again.

“What happened?” Cobb asked.

He hadn't meant to tell him everything, but once, “It started when the last Mandalorian I knew told me I had to reunite the child with his people,” escaped, the rest came tumbling out in more detail than he wanted to bring into focus and ended with, “I broke the Creed. I cannot go back from that.”

Cobb seemed to be holding something back, so he added, “Do not spare me from your judgment.”

“I think,” Cobb said slowly, “that any _Creed_ that makes a man's punishment for saying good-bye to his own child excommunication isn't a Creed worth anyone's respect or obedience.”

He hung his head and Cobb took two steps closer, just close enough to grab his chin and force their eyes to meet. He closed his eyes and Cobb made a noise of disappointment, which only served to make him close his eyes tighter.

With the visual parts of the world gone, he could hear the gentle wind outside, feel Cobb's pulse where the other man's fingers met his chin, notice how much warmer the air was in front of him than behind him, the other man radiating a type of warmth he did not know other people could offer.

“Mando,” Cobb started.

“Don't call me that,” he snapped, eyes still screwed shut.

“What's your name, then?” Cobb asked him.

“Don't,” he tried to warn Cobb not to ask again, but it came out far too close to begging.

There was that sound again, the one that made him shut out the entire visual world. There was no more to shut out, so instead he tried to turn his head away.

Cobb's fingers shifted, their grip more secure and covering more skin. He reached up to grab Cobb's wrist to wrench it away from him, but Cobb caught his hand. They stood there for a few heartbeats, his chin and the uppermost parts of his neck in one of Cobb's hands and one of his wrists in the other.

“Hey,” Cobb's voice held too many of the same things as Peli's had, the things that human voices did when they were dealing with someone who has more traits of a some _thing_ and they didn't want to startle it.

“Don't,” he tried again, but instead of sounding stronger it was an even weaker thing.

“If I let go,” Cobb sighed, “will you open your eyes.”

“I don't know,” he found no reason to lie.

Cobb released his wrist first, then his chin. The warmth was still there, though, and it just felt so _human_ that he did not understand why his heat scanners had never warned him this was a thing that happened when two bodies were close to each other.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to open his eyes. The sound of the wind outside disappeared as the visual world drowned out some of his senses, but the warmth was still there, a sense-dampening thing that he did not want to lose. He steeled what was left of his nerves and met Cobb's now-steely eyes.

“Why did you come here?” Cobb asked.

“I,” he faltered, “I once told you to look after the child.”

Something in Cobb's eyes softened, and that dulled edge that promised he was not in any danger from this near-stranger traveled down Cobb's face to soften the rest of his features.

“You trusted me to look after something you cared about more than yourself,” Cobb said as if just recognizing the power and pain behind the directive.

“I,” he felt his throat trying to crack, “Yes.”

“Is the kid safe?” Cobb asked.

“Safer than he was with me,” he knew it was the truth, but it still caused him physical pain to say aloud.

Cobb made the sound again but did not stop him or grab him when looked away again.

“Stay here for a bit,” it was either a directive or a suggestion, but it didn't matter because as soon as Cobb finished those five tiny words there was nowhere else in the universe – known or unknown – he wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to include porn in this chapter and I missed.
> 
> Next chapter, I promise. <3


	3. Come with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the porn!
> 
> This chapter is from Cobb's POV, because we deserve to get inside his head a little, too.

The Mandalorian who'd managed to strip himself of armor, identity, and name stood in the middle of his living room.

He was no less imposing stripped of everything that made him a Mandalorian in the first place. The moment he'd gotten the first whisper of a stranger who looked like a weapon made human in _his town's_ bar, he'd stopped winding down for the night and pulled on enough clothes to be seen as someone respectable and not some whack job with a blaster.

He wasn't sure who or what he had expected, but something about this stranger-weapon hybrid felt _familiar._ He needed to know if he was right, but the bar was not the place to discover such things. Those terrified eyes that met his needed no words to convey the depths of the horrors they had been witness to.

 _Why don't you come with me_ had been such an easy commend to give. He hadn't expected the probably-Mandalorian to follow him, but he was still thankful when the door to his house hissed shut and the not-quite-a-stranger was on the same side of the door as he was. It all ran together after that, this proud warrior broken in ways no amount of bacta spray – or even more intensive, invasive treatments – would be able to repair.

He'd heard of this kind of brokenness before, warriors and other assorted soldiers who'd finally come up against something that broke something deep inside of them. He'd never met anyone who'd survived such a breaking, but he also hadn't met a Mandalorian before, and with this impossible man he'd now met both.

He couldn't let him retreat into himself further than he already had, couldn't let this stranger who'd saved his town in ways he'd failed to save it throw away the parts of him that had not yet fallen to the wound.

This man with no title or name he would speak, his heart was hardened but his skin was soft. A lifetime protected by armor would do that to someone, Cobb figured, give them protection from the world but not let them harden in more literal ways.

“Stay here for a bit,” Cobb's efforts to hide how desperate he was to save this man turned the words into an ambiguous thing. But the other man nodded and Cobb couldn't help but smile.

“Can't say I have much in the way of accommodations,” he hadn't thought beyond the invitation, “and Mos Pelgo doesn't exactly have any dedicated guest lodging, but I can assure you that you will be comfortable.”

“Anything is fine,” the lodger told him.

Cobb sucked his teeth. This was someone who'd been used to hardships and sacrifice, of course he'd be fine with anything.

“Have you eaten?” Cobb tried again. There was a shake of the head, a negatory, so Cobb pressed on, “Anything you can't eat?” Another negatory. “Anything you're particularly fond of?” Yet another negatory. “I'll get started on something, then.”

He walked towards his kitchen, the lodger's footfalls telling him that he was being followed. Good. He liked this kind of being followed. This kind of being followed meant the lodger _wanted_ some kind of company, still had the instinct to be close to someone else while a wound left him vulnerable.

“I saw the speeder you came in on,” Cobb tried to get a much more casual conversation started, “I'll make sure it gets parked off the main way.”

“Thanks,” the lodger said. Without the helmet and whatever his voice was normally filled through, the lodger's tendency to keep his words clipped and few in number seemed not like someone who was already tired of being the smartest one in any given room, but rather someone who was terrified that too many words would happen and they would not be able to stop even more words from spilling out, their secrets laid bare to a world that would not keep them safe.

Without his armor, this man Cobb wanted to keep safe from his own head was already far too bare to be safe in the world without some other form of protection he could utilize.

“Can you cook?” Cobb asked.

“Basic things,” the lodger shrugged, “Why?”

“Come help me,” Cobb told him.

The lodger did, no sense of rhythm finding itself between them, but they still managed to pull out enough edible things to throw together to make a stew. It would take longer than Cobb usually took to make his food, but maybe some time was exactly what he needed right now.

The lodger's hand kept brushing his as they cleaned up, the stew doing its best to come up to a boil so Cobb could lower the temperature and let it simmer until it turned into entirely cooked food. Cobb was no stranger to this type of contact, this sort of plea for something to hold onto. He doubted the lodger was fully aware of what he was doing.

This, though. This type of plea was being made in a language Cobb spoke well.

It started as gentle, carefully measured tests: Cobb letting the backs of his hand brush the lodger's, Cobb reaching across and letting shoulders and chests meet, Cobb leaning forward instead of back when the lodger needed to reach across _him_.

“Unless you plan on following through,” the lodger said through gritted teeth after the fourth time Cobb leaned forward, “Stop.”

“I'm going to need you to say it directly,” Cobb did not want to try to help and wind up doing the opposite instead.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Which would you prefer?” It wasn't a clear consent from the lodger, so Cobb doesn't do anything to indicated that, yes, he will, that this is the type of wall he knows will keep the demons in the other man's head at bay for at least a little while longer.

“Which are you more willing to do?”

It's a challenge; Cobb knows it's a challenge, though why it's there in the here and now, he isn't entirely sure.

“Say the word and I'll fuck you right over this counter.” It's a promise Cobb knows he'll keep.

“Do it.”

It's still not the yes Cobb is looking for, but instead of saying so he tilts his head to the side.

“Fuck me over this counter,” the lodger's voice is tight, “please.”

And, really, it's the please that does it for Cobb.

He spins the other man around and catches him in a kiss. It's a bruising force, Cobb's desperation to keep this man he never expected to care so much about safe colliding with the other man's need to get out of his own head. There is a hunger no food in any world would cure, and Cobb almost feels greedy for knowing he will bee the one to sate it.

“Cobb,” the other man _whimpers_ and for a fraction of a heartbeat Cobb is afraid his knees are going to buckle under him from the reedy, needy sound alone.

“I'm here,” Cobb's assurance is muffled in the other man's mouth.

“Din,” the other man tells him, “My name is Din.”

“Din,” Cobb finds himself tasting the name and the man together and there's another whimper and it isn't until after the sound is over that Cobb realizes the growl came from _him_ , that there is some sort of _possession_ he feels over this man, over Din.

Cobb turns Din around to pin his back against the counter, crowd Din with everything his own body has to offer. Like this, he can feel Din's breath hitch when he grabs at the back of Din's waist. He pulls so Din's hips manage to get even closer to his own and Din _keens_.

Cobb kisses a line from Din's lips to the space where his jaw meets his neck, continues the line down his neck, each kiss more open-mouthed and wet than the one before it. Din is pulling at his own clothes, undoing fasteners and shedding the padded jumpsuit as fast as he can, desperate to give Cobb access more skin. Cobb is greedy, he knows he is greedy, has known he is greedy for a long time but has so rarely had the chance to act on it, and so he takes the skin Din is offering as soon as it's presented.

No sooner than Din's jumpsuit is no more than a pile around his ankles does he begin to pull at Cobb's clothing. Cobb lets him, too busy letting his hands find the purchase they're desperate for on Din's body. 

Cobb's belt is the first thing to go, pants falling to the ground as soon as their tether is undone. Din rips Cobb's shirt open and Cobb hears at least two of the buttons bouncing off who knew what; he didn't care.

Din's hands were just as greedy, pawing at Cobb's underclothes like he could make them disappear without either of them having to step back for Cobb to truly shed them.

Cobb shows a little mercy and steps out of his pants so he can knock his underwear down and kick it off in one almost-smooth motion. He's hard, he knows he's hard and the feel of Din's thigh – of course it would hit Din's thigh, of course it would be just a few inches too far to the side - only teases the friction Cobb's body craves.

“How do you want to do this?” Cobb asks.

“You're the one doing the fucking,” Din did not need to remind him, “So however's most comfortable for you.”

“How do you _like_ it?” Cobb tries a different question.

There's a pause before Din's _uh_ that tells Cobb the other man hadn't thought about the answer before and it almost _hurts._ This is not the time for Cobb's heart to feel any sort of broken things, though, so Cobb expels the well-meaning but misplaced empathy with his next breath.

He hoists Din up and back so Din can sit on the counter and kick off the last of that damned jumpsuit at the same time. It takes much less effort than Cobb had expected, one of the most prolific hunters in the known worlds a few steps past _pliant_ under Cobb's hands.

Cobb reaches to his right and turns the stew pot on low, just enough space for rational thought left to remember the stew shouldn't be left on high indefinitely.

“Upstairs,” Cobb growls, “We should go upstairs.”

“Yeah,” Din agrees, “Yeah, upstairs, that would be..?”

Cobb laughs before he can stop the sound and kisses Din again to let him know there is no harm meant by the sound.

“This way,” Cobb knows he does not need to tell Din to follow, but he grabs Din by the hand anyways.

Din squeezes Cobb's hand as Cobb manages to get them both to his bedroom.

No sooner than the door swings shut behind him does Cobb pin Din against the door and start kissing him once more, feels Din's cock hard now, too, against his own stomach so he angles his hips forward just enough for the motion to be a promise. Din's little whimper that Cobb swears he'll never tire of turns into a growl and Cobb feels his cock twitch against Din's stomach.

“You don't have to be gentle with me,” Din tells him, “You won't break me.”

Cobb doesn't know how to tell Din that he isn't worried about the one to break him, doesn't know if he'll ever know how to say something like that aloud, so he goes for the next-best option.

He shows him.

Cobb pivots on his heels, left leg just far enough behind his right to keep his balance, and he shoves Din hard enough to feel sure Din will land on his bed with or without resisting the shove. There is some resistance, Cobb can _feel it_ just as Din's body is out of reach of his fingertips, but he hears Din hit his mattress and _leaps_ , each one of his knees landing just shy of Din's hips, right knee clipping Din's fingers. Din's hand moves from under Cobb's knee to Cobb's hips and _grips_. Din's other hand follows suit and Cobb lets himself fall forward, slowly, hands catching his weight against the mattress and not the other man.

“Hang on,” Cobb tells him, “and flip yourself over.”

Cobb forces himself to roll to the side and open the top drawer of his nightstand. He knows exactly where it is, the little jar of oil he's refilled and replaced altogether more times than he could count over the years, it's the little single-use foil package that takes him longer than he wanted to take to locate; he knows it isn't expired. but he hasn't paid it any mind beyond that since he'd replaced the last expired handful of packets. He feels Din shifting, a grunt escaping the other man as he does as he's told and Cobb abandons any care he'd had for not making the drawer an unsortable mess, items falling to the floor as he digs for that damned packet.

The instant he locates it, he grabs both packet and jar and rolls back over. He takes more time straddling Din this time, but just barely, Din's flat on the bed – on his stomach, just like Cobb had told him – so Cobb spreads his legs until his thighs are either in contact with Din or the bed. It's dark outside and the shades are drawn, but there's enough heat radiating from Din that Cobb knows exactly where he is.

“I'm going to prep you,” Cobb tells him, “then I'm going to prep me. If at any point you want me to change what I'm doing or stop, you tell me.”

“I won't want you to stop,” Din manages to say.

“If at any point you want me to change what I'm doing or stop, you tell me,” Cobb repeats.

“Yes, okay, fine, I will,” Din is clearly annoyed but there's no lie in his words, so Cobb makes a satisfied noise to let Din know that that was an acceptable answer.

The oil is almost solid, the cold night air that the windows and walls did little good of keeping out changing it from its normal liquid state, but Cobb's hands are _hot_ and it's liquid again almost instantly. He tucks the jar into the back of his kneecap where the rest of his leg can warm it for when he invariably needs it again before he turns his full attention to Din.

Din's breaths are coming much faster already, anticipation and need drawing them out of the other man at a merciless pace. Cobb figures his own are coming at a similar speed.

His oil-slicked hand starts at Din's tailbone and works its way downward. Din's ass cheeks clench and then relax, a reflex that gave way to a trust Cobb wasn't sure he'd earned.

Cobb passed Din's hole at first, making sure the oil got _everywhere_ it might need to go. Din whimpered again, lower, quieter than the other times but still a wordless plea.

As much as a base, mostly-instinct Cobb wanted to hear Din beg, this was not the night for that need to be met.

Greedy as he was and would admit to being, this wasn't about Cobb.

“I'm here,” Cobb told him, “I'm here.”

“I'd hope so,” Din said with a dry laugh. Cob laughed, too, but it was a far less dry sound. 

“Here,” Cobb brought his knees closer to Din's thighs – a movement that initially earned him one of the most impressive single-syllable noises of protest he head ever heard, but when Cobb raised his left knee just enough for Din to spread his own left leg out to the side, the protest was gone from Din entirely. 

After their left legs had settled, Cobb barely lifted his right knee before Din's right leg was spread, too, making what Cobb needed to do much, much easier.

“There we go,” Cobb's voice was tight, an echo of the control the rest of him was gripping onto, the control that Cobb knew would be lost the instant that grip was loosened in the slightest, “Good, Din, good.”

Din said Cobb's name again, barely an exhale but it hit Cobb like a blow to the chest. He reveled in the feeling as he fetched the oil jar and re-slicked his fingers. He started at Din's tailbone again, but this time he tested the tightness of Din's hole with the pad of his thumb angled so it was all skin and no nail.

Din pressed against Cobb's thumb and Cobb swore he heard a whispered _please_ and Cobb let the tip of his thumb enter Din; doing so earned him another keening sound as Din bucked against him, Cobb's thumb slipping in deeper than Cobb had intended.

“Easy,” Cobb hissed.

“You won't break me,” Din told him again, a desperation behind the sentiment that made Cobb bite down hard on his lip to keep from coming without being touched like he was a schoolboy all over again.

“Not worried about breaking you,” Cobb thought he could taste blood where he'd bit down on his own lip.

“Prove it,” Din challenged.

Cobb rolled his eyes but removed his thumb so he could work his index finger into Din. He braced Din's hips with his other hand, gripping hard enough he knew there would be a handprint shaped bruise there in the morning, but it prevented Din from bucking back again.

While it was true Cobb wasn't worried about breaking Din, he also did not want to cause _harm_ to the hunter.

Once he could move his index finger inside of Din with minimal resistance, he slipped his middle finger in as well. Din moaned bucked against Cobb and Cobb was unable to stop him this time.

“Don't you dare tell me to take it easy,” Din warned, “You promised you'd fuck me.”

“That I did,” Cobb kept his unoccupied hand on Din's hips even though he knew now Din was far, far stronger than he was.

Cobb rotated his wrist, a motion that earned him another moan, then another and another with each turn of his wrist.

Once he could twist his fingers inside of Din without the resistance he'd initially felt – eagerness only did so much to speed the process of harm avoidance along – he picked up the little foil packet with his free hand, tore it open with his teeth, and rolled condom it contained along the length of his own cock. Insurance that they'd both be safe and assurance that he _cared_ about Din's safety without having to say as much aloud.

“Yes,” Din hissed when he heard the condom unrolling, “Finally.”

“Impatient,” Cobb teased.

“Yes,” Din said again, though it had too much resignation in it for Cobb's liking.

Cob withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the tip of his cock. He placed both hands on Din's hips knowing that they may well do nothing to stop Din from slamming himself backwards and taking Cobb to the hilt without any measure of caution.

Din arched his back so his hips were tilted higher, giving Cobb more of a downward angle to press into. Cobb went slowly, carefully, in, then out, then in again a little further, then out again. His own breath hitched in his chest a few times before he finally, finally bottomed out inside of Din, his hips and Din's ass and he finally, finally let all the air out of his lungs before drawing more air than usual back in.

“Cobb,” Din said his name like it was sacred, _**“Please.”**_

Cobb gripped Din's hips even tighter before he started pulling back – only halfway this time before he let himself slam back into Din. Din let out a cry and Cobb paused to ask if Din was alright but before words left Cobb Din said please again and Cobb would have been a fool not to oblige.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cobb was aware of the fact Din was rutting against his blankets but bending down to reach around and start stroking Din's cock would mean a loss of leverage, and he couldn't do that to either of them, not now, not when each thrust drew sounds from Din that Cobb would hold onto for the rest of his life, filed away under _things that come close to perfection._

“Cobb, I -” Din tried to form a sentence, a thought, “I'm -”

“Close?” Cobb asked. Din nodded and Cobb grinned before he discarded all previous thoughts of loss of leverage and drew Din's hips up just a little further so he could almost cradle Din's ass against his thighs. He leaned forward and reached around, his still slightly oil-slicked hand finding its way to Din's cock and the other resting next to Din's head. His head was just above Din's shoulders and like this he could smell the sex-sweet sweat that was Din.

Cobb couldn't pull out as far like this, but he could reach deeper and judging by the breathy sounds that were coming from Din faster and louder each time Cobb snapped his hips the trade off was more than worth it.

“I-” Din started to say but the rest of it was cut off by a near-yelping sound one only made when trying to put off an orgasm.

“Come for me,” Cob told him, “Don't you dare hold back.”

If nothing else, Din was eager to follow any imperative that Cobb gave him.

Din came with a cry that resonated in Cobb's bones, spilling over Cobb's hand and sheets. The hunter went limp under Cobb, his body exhausted and his grief and sex fueled brain deciding that pressed against Cobb's entire body was a _safe_ place to let his outermost defenses fall away.

“Yes,” Cobb hissed, “Good. So good.”

Cobb forced himself to go still so he could ask if Din wanted or needed him to pull out. The actual asking was far less coherent but the general message must have gotten across because Din managed turn his head to the side so he could tell Cobb “Didn't tell you to stop,” without the words being muffled by the sheets.

“Wanted to make sure,” Cobb told him. It was more muttered and slurred together than words, but again the main message came across because Din snorted and flexed so that Cobb's dick was squeezed.

Cobb let out a groan and put both his hands on Din's hips so he could steady himself before he dared to start thrusting again. Din was still making those breathy, reedy, _needy_ sounds with each thrust but Din was _tight_ now and Cobb swore it was on purpose and the thought of that was enough to send Cobb over the edge, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. His hands squeezed Din's hips and his fingernails dug into Din's skin and his hips pressed into Din's ass so he could bury himself as far inside of Din as possible and -

Cobb came with a shout and as his orgasm wound down and his hips twitched in a pantomime of how he'd been properly fucking Din. He wasn't sure what other noises escaped him or how he went from upright on his knees to laying over Din and kissing the back of Din's neck.

“Wow,” was the first word Cobb said when his awareness shifted from Din's body to his own.

Din made a noise of agreement and turned his face so it was in the sheets and Cobb had better access to his neck.

“Hmn,” Cobb made a contented sound and bit the base of Din's neck gently. Din made a similar contented sound and Cobb nestled his face in the space between Din's neck and shoulder.

“Thank you,” Din whispered.

“You're welcome,” Cobb hoped it was the correct response. His head was still swimming in a post-orgasm haze and any social scripts he'd accumulated were lost to him.

Cobb reached under Din to bring his arms under the other man's chest and then shifted them forward so they reached around Din's armpits and his hands could grab Din's shoulders. He felt Din _melt_ under him and if he had any less self-control he could have sobbed, the sheer volume of trust Din had in him a thing he did not expect or understand.

But he knew you didn't have to understand something to be thankful for it.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, they shifted until they were both on their sides, Cobb holding Din against him, Din curled in on himself, legs _molded_ by Cobb's, Din's ankle caught on the one of Cobb's that was on top of the leg-foot-ankle tangle they had going on.

Cobb peppered the back of Din's neck in slow, gentle kisses and kept his not-trapped arm across Din's chest, pulling Din as close as he could and then some. He could stay like this forever, or at least until morning, a tangle of Cobb-and-Din or perhaps Din-and-Cobb a single idea in and of themselves that had only just begun to form. There were _possibilities_ in that idea, once Cobb did not dare chase down before they became something more tangible.

Downstairs, a pot of stew simmered on, forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this as a one-shot and then it got LONG and I decided to break it up and now it's turning into an entire story so I hope everyone is strapped in for a long ride.
> 
> There will be many, many more chapters of this.


	4. Stay a While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys clean themselves up, eventually. Din's trying to process what his life is now, but he's also trying to do anything _but_ that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! Have some softness to make up for it.

It wasn't sleep that ebbed and flowed in the recesses of Din's mind, but something like it; there was a restfulness that seemed so endless it only served to stir up anxieties he'd long forgotten he carried.

Behind him, Cobb's teeth were still pressing gently into the base of his neck. Cobb's breathing was almost even, but just irregular enough to tell Din that, yes, Cobb was still awake to.

“Din?” Cobb asked without moving, teeth still just resting on Din's skin.

“Thinking,” Din managed to say. It was the truth, however abbreviated. 

“Must not have done my job right,” Cobb says and it's a teasing thing, Din _knows_ it's a teasing thing, but he can't help the way it shoots right down to the base of the things he's been hiding from himself since he decided the Guild's code was worth far less than a foundling, can't stop it when it digs into him.

Cobb must have felt it, though, became the next thing he knows Cobb's kissing the back of his neck again and muttering something that feels like an apology despite the fact he can't understand any of the sounds that may or may not be words.

Din was about to tell Cobb that they needed to get up, needed to clean up and have food and maybe after that Din could start to untangle the worst of whatever drove him here. He was somehow less naked now than he had been when he'd stripped himself of his armor and given it to Peli for safekeeping.

_This is my clan now,_ he thought, an idle thing that clung to the recesses of his mind to keep the restfulness and the anxieties company. Was it, though? Were these two strangers _his_? If they were, would they even agree to the prospect of...of what, exactly? He wished no ownership over anyone, nor did he wish to form any more bonds to others.

It had, as of late, been quite a risk to be someone who thought Din was worth rallying to. 

“Din,” Cobb said gently, “You're allowed to think.”

“I wish I wasn't,” Din muttered. Behind him Cobb huffed and nudged the base of Din's skull with his forehead. 

“Come on,” Cobb squeezed Din a little, “Come here.”

“Any closer and I may start to fuse with you,” Din managed a huff that was close enough to a laugh.

“Not a bad thing,” Cobb purred.

“Insatiable,” Din managed a small laugh.

“Generally,” Cobb didn't miss a beat. Din could feel that quirky smile against his neck.

“Good,” Din let himself _feel_ Cobb pressing against, him, shifted his focus such that everything Cobb was nearly swallowed his senses entirely.

Cobb chuckled and hooked Din's ankle around his. Din contorted his neck so he could bite Cobb's arm. It was a gentle thing, testing how Cobb liked it. When he was rewarded with a pleased hum, he bit again, a little harder this time.

“Easy, Din,” nothing about Cobb's tone told Din there was no need to go easy on him, “I'm not a young man anymore.”

“Neither am I,” Din shrugged and wriggled so that he was on his back, pulled Cobb on top of him so they laid chest to chest.

Even in the near total darkness that had settled into Cobb's bedroom

He'd expected it to be too much, his skin's lack of exposure to the world to have left his every nerve raw and sex with someone who by all rights to still be a stranger to have pushed him over an edge he didn't even understand.

Cobb kissed him on the lips, a gentle, testing thing that seemed to be asking a question Din did not – perhaps could not – understand. Din returned the kiss, a hungry gesture that he hoped Cobb understood as _Keep me out of my own head._

He hadn't come here to do this, to lose himself in the Marshal he once considered killing in front of the child – _his_ child. Walk in, tell him the child is with his own people, walk out. In hindsight, that was all he needed to do. Could have put his helmet back on, could have lived a lie just for a little while, just long enough to tell him that the chi – that Grogu was safe.

It seemed so easy in hindsight.

Except, he knew he wouldn't have been able to do that; he knew that the Creed was still _sacred_ to him even if he'd defiled it. He would not defile it more because he wished whatever he was living through was more simple.

“Easy,” Cobb said again, more gentle this time. He ran the back of two of his fingers down Din's temple at an angle so he brushed the just-barely-long-enough hair behind Din's ear, “You don't have to talk.”

Din had felt the words forming, had thought he might choke on them but he'd rather choke than become the guy who verbally vomits after sex, and Cobb's gentle voice that delivered the difficult reminder seemed to melt them all away so Din could breathe again.

Instead of saying anything Din nodded and put one of his arms around Cobb so that his palm lay flat on the small of Cobb's back. Cobb grinned and propped himself up on his elbows and the minimal light still let Cobb's eyes flash; there was a feral sort of pleasure there that Din could _feel_ even without the enhanced senses his armor had once given him.

Din raised his other hand so he could run the back of his index finger down the side of Cobb's face. It was rough and smooth, skin and stubble together and then teeth when Cobb turned his face to bite Din's finger. Din felt the sensation of being challenged to a fight he'd be able to claim victory in regardless if he ended up – _heh_ – at the bottom of things once the fight was through.

He ground his hips against Cobb's and Cobb laughed and called _him_ insatiable and kissed him again, a rough thing that Din _wanted_ and made him keen for Cobb. He was hard again, cock trapped between himself and Cobb.

“Din,” Cobb said his name like it meant something, “Ah,” a sigh that was also a sound of pleasure.

“Cobb,” Din breathed.

“Have to warn you,” Cobb was growing hard against Din, “I don't remember the last time I went twice in a row.”

“Neither do I,” Din nearly laughed, the fact they were rutting against each other and so soon after they'd both orgasmed suddenly the only thing he could think of.

They laid like that, Cobb on top of Din and Din under Cobb, the both of them rutting into each other until they came again – first Cobb and then Din – and they laid there still, both panting, chests heaving and sweat making them both sticky.

“'Fresher?” Cobb asked between breaths.

“'Fresher,” Din agreed.

Cobb peeled himself off of Din more than anything, guiding Din up into a sitting position then am awkward kneel so they both could stand. They stepped off Cobb's bed together, using each other for balance even though somewhere in the back of his head Din was aware there were numerous ways they could have found their way to _standing on the floor_ that would have been less precarious, but they were standing on the floor, all four of their they owned feet between the two of them.

They made it down the hall and into a tiny closet that barely fit the two of them – this had been a house built for someone who expected to be alone – and Cobb turned on the sonic and the post-sex haze took over what was left of Din's thoughts. The next time he was able to focus he was _clean again_ and still leaning on Cobb and Cobb was still leaning on him.

He wondered if he was truly so lost that his mind had anchored itself onto this man and that was why he wanted nothing more than to stay naked and next to him – not even fucking, just maintaining physical contact, skin-to-skin, just like this. 

He wasn't sure he wanted answers to these wonderings.

Cobb made a sound that somehow sounded like both a laugh and a growl and he circled an arm around Din's waist and Din felt like maybe he wasn't the only one casting a proverbial anchor in even more proverbial storm-tossed waters.

Yes. He could stay like this for a while. He could somehow soak up everything Cobb was willing to offer him through his skin.

He could stay like this for a while.


	5. Interlude: Far Too Stubborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an underground maze of an old bunker that has been mostly forgotten to all but the Mandalorians who haunt it, an Armorer hears of a mechanic who has a suit of Beskar armor. Her new clan is a fragile thing, she knows this, and she struggles with whether she should send someone else to investigate or she should go herself. After all, she thinks she knows who the suit belonged to, and if's been discarded then there is a high chance there is a Foundling somewhere who needs protection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude for the purpose of setting up plot.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

It would only be a matter of time before the incessant telltale sounds of the lack of integrity of the pipes was drowned out by forage fires. Still in its earliest stages, the forage she sat next to was little more than a questionable ventilation shaft grafted onto the pipes in question and a hole that would one day be the fires that gave her work life.

As she sorted through the bars she had cast from the armor she had salvaged from her fallen Tribe members, the drips did nothing to cover the nonstop stream of words currently coming from one Paz Vizsla, who was currently pacing the entryway of her new stronghold.

“If it's true,” Paz was currently saying, “shouldn't someone go get it?”

“If it _is_ true,” she'd been biting the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste blood, and it helped keep her tone neutral, “And if it belongs to who we're both thinking it belongs to, should our priorities not lie in recovering the Foundling first?”

It was a challenge – she knew Paz had a storied history with Din, and almost the whole of it was antagonistic – but she found Paz's sudden concern with the armor over the man who should have been wearing it fascinating. She would not find out what current carried his insistence from below the surface without making him think it was his idea to share.

“If the Foundling is with his people, we're dead for just setting foot on their planet,” Paz sounded like he might have been screaming at her if she had been anyone else.

She chuckled, a low, quiet thing, but Paz heard it and stopped pacing. He said no more and to anyone else he might have appeared to be unmoving, but she could tell there was a tremble born of nerves just under his armor.

“The Jedi have no more of a planet than we do,” she told him, “And interesting, that you would yield before an enemy you have not met.”

Paz growled but did not try to refute her. Good – there may be some sense about whatever he was carrying that he was not ready or able to name.

“Tatooine isn't far,” Paz tried a different tactic, “I can be there and back before your forage fires are lit once more.”

“And if whatever robbed Din Djarin of his armor fells you as well, what then?” she asked.

Paz grunted and started pacing again, an anxious thing now rather than an impatient one. 

_And there it is,_ she thought to herself, _He fears there is something out there that is stronger than his childhood rival still out there._

The two of them had been Foundlings of around the same age, had trained together. It was when their paths diverged that the rivalry started. Din wanted to be a tool that would harvest the means to sustain their underground clan; Paz wanted to be its bastion.

And they had been, right until a Foundling who Din thought was worth risking his life for, thought the wrath of the Guild and holdouts who still believed in the Empire were worth facing. Din had not called for anyone to rally to his side, but everyone old enough to don their armor came anyways.

_This is the way._

When Din found the armor that had been reduced to nothing but salvage, she wondered if there would have been one more body for her to drag out of the tunnels had she not shown up when she did. Din had been so stubborn, so naive when he offered to stay behind, stay with her. It had only been by charging him with reuniting the Foundling with its people that she had gotten Din to leave her to her salvage work.

She wondered if Din thought she could not smell the bacta coming from under his helmet, if Din knew _she_ knew his helmet had been removed somewhere shortly before they'd found her. She wondered, too, what could have driven someone whose faith was as ferocious as Din's to discard the Creed.

She'd left the old covert to fall into ruins as soon as her salvage work was done. Another planet, still within the Outer Rim, one she'd scouted previously as a back-up planet should her covert fall. She knew it would happen eventually; then when and the why were the only unknowns.

Until they weren't anymore.

Still, she'd started from nothing before. She would do it again. And even again, if it was what she needed to do.

It had not surprised her when Paz found her again, his armor too worn and damaged to be of any practical use and his body exhausted and battered. Nor had it surprised her when Paz took it upon himself to scour the stars themselves for survivors to bring back to her in the name of restarting their covert.

Sometimes, though, Paz came back with stories instead of people, and this particular story he hadn't been able to move past – someone had heard of a repair shop on Tatooine that had a Beskar carapace that was so well-hidden you had to know what you were looking for to catch so much as a glimpse of it. Some sort of magic, whoever had told Paz of it swore, too much to be some sort of new technology.

“It may have been a mutual death,” Paz still did not say the other man's name, “If it is Beskar, does it not belong with us?”

“Do not try to hide behind noble intent,” she warned him, “Speak plainly, Paz Vizsla, and waste no more of my time.”

“I need to know,” Paz told her, “I need to see for myself if the man we risked everything for – and lost nearly everything for – no longer wears the armor.”

_Interesting,_ she thought. Paz was now actively avoiding the prospect of Din's death.

It made sense, she supposed; Paz had not been alive for the Great Purge, did not have prior experience witnessing the mass slaughter of his own, did not know what it felt like to be powerless to stop a massacre.

Still, she doubted Din had been bested in combat. He was far too stubborn to fall in such a normal way.

She set her sorting aside and rose to her feet. Paz froze and pivoted on his heels to face her.

“We go together, then,” she told him, “And we return with the armor and with Din.”

And when Paz started sputtering, she could not help the laughter that escaped her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to have SO MUCH fun writing The Armorer.


	6. Like a Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, after the calm comes the flood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cobb's POV this time.

They could have gotten clothes on, sure, could have covered themselves back up before heading back downstairs and checking to see how badly burned the stew was, but Din's clothes were downstairs and Cobb couldn't remember where his had been tossed aside for greater things. And besides, there was a hunger that had started gnawing at Cobb that he knew Din couldn't sate. 

And so, they made it down the stairs with Cobb's arm wrapped around Din's waist and Din testing each step before putting his weight on it, eyes not quite focused and the corners of his mouth quirked upwards into a grin. They made it back into the kitchen and somehow, between the two of them, kick Din's jumpsuit out of the way.

“Stupid blacks,” Din muttered under his breath as the last of the fabric was untangled from his foot. Din chuckled and shifted so Din could use the edge of the counter to steady himself while Cobb checked the stew.

“Still wet,” Cobb said with a chuckle.

“The stew and my asshole have something in common then,” Din teased and Cobb thwacked the back of his hand with the spoon he'd just used to stir the stew. Din let a cut-off huff of a laugh escape him before he decided to lick the flecks of stew that had stuck to him off of his hand.

“Tease,” Cobb said without heat.

“It's good,” Din did not rise to the bait.

“Good,” Cobb couldn't remember half the things they're put in the pot. Everything was soft now, the heat and the precious water changing them from what they were designed to be into something they could eat.

He switched the stirring spoon out for a ladle and pulled a bowl and a large cup down from the shelf.

“Don't usually have visitors,” he felt like he needed to explain the singular bowl.

“It's fine,” Din meant it. Cobb wondered how many years this still-stranger had gotten by with what he needed to survive and no more, how many meals had been a mouthful of something that didn't even have a name, just calories.

Just how long had that hunk of dragon meat lasted him? A day? A week? Was it still there, part of it, in Din's ship, dried and cut into strips for safer keeping?

“Here,” Cobb filled the bowl and handed it to Din. He pulled a spoon out of a drawer and stuck it in the stew.

“Thank you,” Din was staring at the bowl like he wasn't sure what to do with it.

Cobb swallowed a frown and ladled some stew into the cup for himself. The drawer produced a second spoon after a fair amount of rummaging.

“Where do you eat?” Din asked.

“Usually standing at the stove,” Cobb saw no reason to lie and say he ate sitting on his couch or even sitting on the floor and he knew if he tried to say _at the table_ Din would point out the fact there wasn't a table in the entire house and -

Maybe he was overthinking it a little bit.

“Works for me,” Din said with a shrug as he leaned one hip on the counter.

“We could sit in the living room, if you'd be more comfortable,” Cobb offered.

“If you want to?” Din hadn't meant for it to come out as a question.

“Come on,” Cobb jerked his head towards his living room. Din turned on the balls of his feet and took the few steps that took him from the kitchen to the living room. Cobb followed, appreciating the view and trying to memorize every scar that tried to tell him one of Din's stories.

Din sat down on one side of Cobb's couch. The thing had been built to seat three but Cobb couldn't remembered the last time he'd sat on it. His life had become a work-eat-sleep cycle; there was no energy in there to appreciate the rest of his house.

He'd forgotten how stiff the couch was. Perhaps it would have been softer had it been used more often, the constant, unconscious shifts people do when socializing would have worn down the couch's stuffing. 

But enough of that.

He still wasn't really appreciating the rest of his house. His focus was on Din and Din alone because if he let anything else in he'd start asking himself what was happening and how someone who'd saved his town was now naked in front of him, vulnerable and broken in ways Cobb knew he could not reach.

He'd start asking himself what type of care and duty he felt towards this man.

They ate in silence, the scrape of their spoons against the side of their stew holders creating a sort of ambiance.

“I didn't realize I was so hungry,” Din said as he finished the last of his stew, “Again, thank you.”

“Least I could do,” Cobb told him but then added, “You're welcome,” because it felt right, felt like he needed to assure Din he recognized his gratitude and was not dismissing it as something not worthy of its own sort of life. 

They sat there, Din on one side of the couch and Cobb on the other, the space between them warmer than it had any right to be.

“So what's your plan next?” Cobb asked.

“What do you mean?” Din's grip on the now-empty bowl tightened as he asked a question of his own.

“You're a Mandalorian,” Cobb knew Din didn't feel like it, but he had to press, had to find a way to get this man back in his armor and back into the universe, “From my understanding Mandalorians don't much stay in one place for long.”

“I've lost everything,” Din's knuckles were turning white from gripping his bowl so tightly, “My Creed, my ship, my _child_ ,” Din took a deep, sharp inhale, one that came from holding one's breath so long the body wondered if it was starting to die rather than a breath meant to replenish the lungs, “I have no idea. I don't know if there _is_ a next for me.”

“Don't you dare,” Cobb dropped his cup, which hit the too-hard floor and broke, “Don't you dare talk like that.” He grabbed Cobb's hand and squeezed. Din dropped his bowl, which met a similar fate, and gripped Cobb's hand with both of his.

“I didn't mean -” Din started to say something that felt important, but the weight of it made Din crash. He folded over on himself, gripping Cobb's hand even tighter, pulling the three hands up to his forehead as a sob broke loose from the deepest parts of whatever made up the only Din Djarin that the universe had ever seen. 

“Oh Din,” Cobb felt his heart break as he shifted closer to Din so he could swing his free arm around the front of Din and pull him closer. Din practically melted into Cobb, the hard edges of a lifetime being someone he needed to be, the someone without wants or selfish ambitions he chiseled himself into being somehow not digging into Cobb.

Cobb had seen this – never so close as a bystander, but he'd still seen it – and knew this was Din realizing what he'd done, what he'd lost. Whatever he'd constructed to keep the worst of the echoes of the things he'd done and left undone alike was breaking, and Din was lost in what he believed was a storm of his own making.

Din sobbed and sobbed, his entire body shaking from the force of them.

_It was a thing, Cobb decided, that one could only be a bystander for no matter how close one was, how much anyone did to try to make themselves anything but a bystander._

Din's chest heaved, lungs desperately trying to get more air in than out for just a moment so he could sob again.

_He'd lived it, though._

Din was trying to apologize, trying to push Cobb as far away from a storm Cobb could never truly feel as possible.

“Easy,” Cobb urged Din, “I'm here.”

_He knew the importance of bystanders doing their best._

“I'm sorry,” Din choked out, “I'm sorry.”

_He'd run once, from something so much larger than him. He'd ran from guns and tyrants and something he knew he could not survive. He'd returned, though, stronger and more capable of doing anything **but** running. He'd been no one then he traded his stolen prize for a faux carapace that turned him into the most feared and respected person in Mos Pelgo._

Cobb managed to free his hand from Din's iron grip so he could swing ti around Din's back and hold him even closer. He rocked Din gently as Din did his damnedest to keep the protective walls from shattering completely.

_And then his carapace had been relinquished shortly after Cobb watched a stranger throw himself into the mouth of the largest monster he'd ever seen. Peace, though, had been a part of the whole thing and his town was safe for the first time in its history._

“I don't,” Din managed, “I didn't...”

“Oh Din,” Cobb stroked the back of Din's head, cradled it as best he could at the awkward angles the couch afforded him, “Din, Din, I got you.”

_He was no longer feared, not without the armor. He was human again, vulnerable and left to only his wit, reflexes, and skills with a blaster should death and destruction find Mos Pelgo again._

Cobb did his best to walk Din through the jagged, broken breaths that signaled the end of the worst of it. Din did his best to follow, sometimes backsliding into sobbing again, sometimes surging forward and taking a normal breath only for the next one to turn jagged again.

_But he was still respected. He was still the Marshal of Mos Pelgo because the people of this town, **his people** respected and **trusted** him._

Din sniffed and tried to sit up and Cobb shifted so he could face Din better.

“Sorry about the bowl,” Din said with another sniff that shifted into a small laugh.

“Don't worry about it,” Cobb tried to assure him.

“Out of everything,” Din shook his head and chuckled, “I'm sorry about the bowl first.”

Din's chuckle turned into a laugh, and Cobb laughed with him, the absurdity of worrying about the broken dishes when Din's world had just come crashing down on him somehow genuinely hilarious.

Eventually, some time still before the first sun rose, their laughter died down but Cobb was still holding Din close.

“Thank you,” Din told him, “I don't know why you're doing this for me, but thank you.”

It was a sincere thanks, Cobb could tell, but it was still a sad thing, a thanks rooted in a sense of self that had been wounded over and over again, warped with each scar that managed to form on Din's heart.

“Not terribly long ago, a stranger showed me that one person with everything to lose can still save the day,” Cobb couldn't help but smile, “Can still save the town. Hell, can change what history would have looked like.”

“Sounds like quite a lesson,” Din sighed and leaned into Cobb. Cobb let him, encouraged him to let Cobb take some of the weight he carried.

Cobb could do nothing with anything Din shouldered onto him, but perhaps Din could find the strength Cobb knew he still had with a little less weight to bear.

“It was,” Cobb told him, “Still is, really. And I'd like to show him what I've done with those lessons.”

Cobb really, really wanted to show Din what Din had taught him the moment the impossible unfolded just meters away from him.

Cobb kissed Din's temple and it felt like he'd just made a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all like the style difference for this one! I wanted to try something different to give a better insight into how Cobb's handling everything.


	7. After Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the suns rise, Din starts to grasp how not okay he is, as well as how not willing to be Mandalore's rightful ruler. Cobb's doing his best with, well, everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get rolling! Still Cobb's POV for this chapter.

Cobb awake slowly, his back still and limb all kinds of sore he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the sex he'd had the night before. As consciousness found him in increasing increments, he decided the soreness was due to the fact that he and Din had, somehow, fallen asleep sitting up on the couch. 

His back was resting against the back of the couch and his feet were on the floor as if he really had just been sitting there when he nodded off. Din's head was nestled between his shoulder and chest, that arm still wrapped around Din. Din's arm that wasn't pinned between the both of them was draped over Cobb's thigh, resting just next to his knee. The rest of Din's body was on the couch as well, knees tucked up as if the next step was to curl up into himself, even in his sleep.

Glass was still all over the floor. 

He had a vague recollection that seemed to be more feelings than words; Din had done a lot of purging of his heart and his head alike while Cobb had made a lot of sympathetic noises and offered as much physical reassurance as he could.

He had no recollection of how they'd come to sleep like this – sleeping together in the most literal sense on one of the worst couches to do so on – but he had to work the mines today and he hoped his bones didn't regret it in the morning.

He shifted and Din began to stir.

“Hey,” Cobb said quietly.

“Shit,” Din's voice was slurred, sleep still clinging to his vocal cords, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Cobb kissed the top of Din's head, “How are you feeling?”

“Empty,” Din answered honestly, “Like I've been hollowed out and nothing's come to fill the void.”

_Power hates a vacuum,_ Cobb remembered his words to Din the last time. It was true for places, Cobb knew enough about the worlds beyond his town to be sure of that, but was it true for people, too?

“You?” Din asked before Cobb could figure how to respond.

“Little stiff,” Cobb decided to answer with equal honesty, “but alright.” He paused then repeated, “I'm alright. Yeah. I'm alright.”

“Sorry,” Din said again.

“Rather be stiff with you,” Cobb had an entire sentence planned out but he cut himself off with a poorly stifled snicker. Din laughed a little, too, and relaxed his neck so even more of his face was somehow touching Cobb.

“I'm supposed to go down to the mines today,” Cobb told Din.

“Supposed to?” Din asked, not moving.

“Gotta get up off the couch first,” Cobb made no move to do so.

“Hmn,” Din started to get up, but Cobb tugged him back down. Din made a curious, sleepy sound and Cobb chuckled.

“I suppose I could take a day off,” Cobb was smiling.

“I don't want to get in your way,” Din said it so quickly that Cobb knew it was rooted deeper than Din realized.

In and out; a job done and nothing left behind but shadows. That was Din's life, Cobb could feel it.

The morning suns' early rays seemed to chase away the shadows, though, and Cobb hoped he could take advantage of the light.

“Hardly in the way if I keep pulling you back here,” Cobb squeezed Din for emphasis.

Din made a series of noises that crammed against themselves, all rushing to get out in the same heartbeat, but Din did not try to get up again.

“I don't remember the last time I woke up and didn't immediately have the next twenty things I needed to do,” Din admitted.

“Sounds like hell,” Cobb said absently.

“This is the way,” Din said, and Cobb couldn't tell if it was faith, reflex, or sarcasm.

They laid there like that, sore joints and all, until Cobb's stomach growled and Din chuckled.

“Come on,” Din said as he extracted himself from Cobb so he could clamor to his feet, “You sound like you need food.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cobb was still smiling when he forced himself into a standing position.

“Food, then clothes,” Din mumbled, “I think.”

“Works for me,” Cobb was in no rush to deny himself the view that was Din's naked body in the daylight.

Somewhere in the back of Cobb's mind, the pieces that were Din were shifting together. This man, this bounty hunter whose Creed demanded he hide anything that could be used to identify him as a person rather than him as an idea. The way Cobb figured it, whatever Din had gone through that turned him into the Mandalorian had also stripped him of his identity and replaced it with things called names like loyalty and camaraderie and trust. His armor, his helmet, they had been physical proof of his dedication to the ways of his people.

But Din was different now, changed, had unintentionally made himself a totem of profanity in the eyes of his fellow Mandalorians.

As he watched Din walk towards the kitchen, Cobb decided profanity was his new favorite thing.

Din stood next to his still-rumpled jumpsuit, eyes darting between cabinets as if trying to take the lead on making breakfast.

“Here,” Cobb said as he kicked the jumpsuit aside to make a little more room in his tiny kitchen. Something made a clunking sound, something decisively not fabric at all.

“Shit,” Din hissed before Cobb could ask what he'd just kicked, “Shit, I forgot about that how could I forget about this.” Din was crouched down and fishing for the object in question in a flash. Cobb took half a step back and watched, ready to help but unsure how.

“Din?” Cobb asked, more cautious than he'd been since Din's reappearance. 

“This,” Din was holding a cylinder that was only a little bit wider than his palm, fingers curled all the way around the thing so Cobb could not see if it had any markings or mechanisms, “How could I forget this?” 

“Din?” Cobb asked again. He wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, ask again. There was something going on on his kitchen floor between Din and the cylinder and he was back to trying to move forward with no sense of navigation.

“The darksaber,” Din was staring at the tube, “It's – I'm – shit, Cobb, I'm the ruler of Mandalore.”

Losing a child, Cobb supposed, could make one forget they were King or whatever titles Mandalorians used to denote their highest form of leadership, but he didn't have experience with either.

He felt like he should say something, should find words to offer Din something else to focus on, pull Din's eyes and hopefully his thoughts away from the cylinder that was apparently so much bigger than its physical form.

And so how he found himself crouched down next to Din, silent and also staring at the thing was beyond him.

“I've shed my everything,” Din was unaware of the irony in his words, “and yet with this, I'm...” he trailed off, unable to say what it meant aloud again.

Cobb sighed without meaning to and put a careful hand on Din's shoulder.

“What do I do?” Din asked.

“Well,” Cobb managed to look directly at Din despite how his head was swimming, “first, we eat breakfast.”

“And after that?” Din's eyes were cast to the floor now, and Cobb thought his heart might break.

“We figure out what happens after breakfast when we've finished breakfast,” Cobb decided.

“After breakfast waits until after breakfast,” Din's voice was far away, but Cobb was sure he was still there with him.

Cobb grabbed Din's free hand and kissed his knuckles, a gentle thing. Din made a sound of shifting the weight on his soul to a more manageable load and smiled just a little bit.

Cobb would keep that sound and that smile in his heart so long as it kept beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din out the armor, what will he do?


	8. Interlude: Ask Him Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba Fett has received word of two Mandalorians landing on his planet and decides to intercept them. In a repair garage not terribly far from Boba's planned interception, a petite woman with a single blaster is fiercely protective of a shiny set of armor that doesn't belong to her.
> 
> Fennec doesn't know what she thinks about what's unfolding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's through Fennec's POV.

Fennec had heard stories – more legends than anything else – about days when Tatooine had been anything but a desert. She'd met people who held the thought of Tatooine's forests so close that they seemed to confuse them with a memory. She might have pitied them if pity for the deluded was something she thought worth her time.

It wasn't.

Even less so now that the final stages of Boba's overthrow of the Hutts was so fresh that the entire place still smelled of blood and whatever flesh had been splattered all over the place. Sure, it had been cleaned up, but as with all things, telltale signs of truth had a tendency to linger.

And so, when word of two strangers who had landed on Tatooine wearing armor too like Boba's to be anyone but more Mandalorians, she wondered how long her patience would hold out.

These newcomers were both well-shielded from a galaxy that wanted little more than to see the end of not only them but their people and their ways, their armor too pristine despite the visible damage to not have access to routine maintenance.

“We're going out to them,” Boba told her, “Grab your gun,” he added as if she ever had it more than an arm's length from her. They were on Boba's ship in record time.

It was as it had become: Boba lead and Fennec followed.

It made sense not to let these newcomers wander too far on their own; Tatooine had enough problems without two Mandalorians who might be looking for work, might be looking for Boba, or worse yet might be looking for Din wandering around, left to their own devices.

After all, there was no Mandalorian left in the galaxy – especially left in the outer rim – who came in peace, and while Boba had secured Tatooine for himself, Din's fate was not so secure and that damned man had a habit of attracting people willing to lay down their lives for him that he seemed completely unaware of.

Mos Pelgo had already lost so many people because they trusted Din's directions. As tenacious as the city-turned-town was, Din was wounded and Mos Pelgo's keeper was unprotected. If two holdouts of one of the galaxy's oldest – if not its oldest – warrior cultures arrived without warning, there was a chance the town _would_ be wiped off the map for good.

Like she and Boba didn't know where Din had wound up after they'd left him more or less unattended.

And then the mines would be open to whoever showed up first, and if it wasn't _miners willing to be loyal to Boba,_ there would either be bloodshed or a back-to-back power vacuum. Fennec wasn't sure which was worse.

“Still with me?” Boba asked quietly.

“Mmhmm,” she kept equally quiet, “Thinking.”

“Well, great,” Boba was still keeping his voice low, “If you could keep doing that, I'm about to have to do a lot of talking, but failing that we're both going to have to do a lot of shooting.”

“At which point the thinking will cease,” she almost rolled her eyes. Boba chuckled, though, and she couldn't help but grin just a little.

Boba's ship landed almost exactly where the first reports of these additional Mandalorians had come from. Glancing around, Fennec decided the junker ship with closed doors and no one – flesh or droid or somewhere in-between – guarding it was the one their query had arrived in.

“They can't have gotten terribly far,” Boba noted, “Either we follow the whispers, or we follow the trail of bodies.”

“Might be both,” Fennec hoped. Whispers were often boring, after all, but they laid a groundwork nothing else could duplicate.

Under his helmet, Boba snorted and shook his head before picking up his pace.

Fennec followed.

It was different now, how crowds parted for them, the highest form of authority one could find on this planet and his – what was she? Not his bodyguard, not his minion, but also not his partner.

His hound of sorts, then, she supposed.

“There,” Boba pivoted on his heels to look straight ahead.

“I see them,” Fennec felt herself shift her weight to the balls of her feet, ready to run after them if she needed to.

Or perhaps past them and into a good position to take them out if she needed to.

“Wait,” Boba stopped in his tracks, “They're not looking for Din.”

Fennec almost asked what he meant, but when she looked past the duo in question and the general direction they were headed, she realized what Boba meant.

They were here for Din's _armor._

“Shit,” Fennec hissed, “Should I -”

“We go directly to the garage,” Boba grabbed a parked speeder without looking, “and we try to get there before the whole place gets blown and Din doesn't have any armor to come back to.”

It was as good of an idea as any.

They rode together, Fennec balanced precariously on the back of the bike meant for one, just barely managing to get to the garage first. As they both dismounted, Fennec could see the Mandalorians just inside the far side of her field of vision.

“What -” the garage owner – Peli, Fennec believed she was called, started to ask before she recognized who they were, “Well, this is certainly a surprise.”

“Another Mandalorian,” Boba told her, “Two, coming this way.”

“What am I, running a pit stop?” Peli grumbled, “They better need their ship fixed or I'm telling them they can't park here.”

“I think parking is going to be the least of your worries,” Fennec told the garage owner as she gauged the plausibility of using the garage roof as a sniping vantage point.

The woman narrowed her eyes and turned one side of her face towards them, clearly asking what Fennec meant without using words.

“The armor,” Boba spoke more plainly, “We think they're here for the armor.”

“Din's armor?” Peli glanced back into the back of her shop and told Fennec everything about where the armor was without realizing it, “Why would they want Din's armor?”

“Think about it,” Boba all but gestured to himself, “Empty suit of armor, Mandalorians...empty suit of armor.”

“Din's going to come back for it,” Peli sounded so sure of this man, “He is!”

“I'm not the one you have to convince,” Boba told her.

“Fine,” Peli snarled, “But if they think they can just take it, they're in for a surprise.”

Peli, like everyone else who'd sunk their claws into Tatooine's sand and found a place to build their lives, had at least two weapons on her – one obvious, one less obvious. Fennec did not need to scan the woman to know this; that she was running a business on her own told Fennec everything she needed to know about this woman.

“I think they're in for a surprise no matter what they're here for,” Boba noted.

Peli grunted and positioned herself so she could not be flanked without someone entering her garage – no doubt there was some sort of trap where the garage door would normally be, waiting for the day until the one who laid it was in their most desperate hour. Fennec hoped that was not also the current hour.

“They're picking up speed,” Fennec squinted, “Still...well, they're not running, but I'd be hard-pressed to call it _walking._ ”

“They probably see you two,” Peli gestured to Fennec and Boba with one hand, a dismissive thing despite the gravity of everything going on around her, “If you can see them.”

And while Fennec had considered that, hearing it said aloud _to_ her carried a very different weight.

“So they think they have competition,” Boba did not sound worried, just preemptively exhausted, “You, what's your name?”

“Peli,” the woman said; Fennec had been right, “Why?”

“Peli,” Boba was looking at the horizon, “Whatever you do, keep your blaster in its holster.”

“This is my garage!” Peli seemed in no mood to be compliant, “I'll do what I need to to keep it that way!”

There was an unspoken _and keep my promise,_ that Fennec could understand. Whatever promise Peli had made to Din, it was about to become a particularly dangerous one.

Not that the one she and Boba made hadn't been dangerous, but they were used to danger. Peli, on the other hand, Fennec couldn't tell what sorts of dangerous this woman understood or had lived through.

And so they stood there, the three of them, Peli in her garage resisting the ever-more-obvious urge to grab her blaster, Boba so still he might have been a statue, and Fennec regretting not getting on the roof sooner. They waited in silence, a clear consensus that any more talking was just wasting energy.

As these two surplus Mandalorians got closer, Fennec could tell the smaller one was the one in charge. She walked with so much _purpose_ and _power_ that were both things well-earned over time rather than given out of fear. She carried no projectile weapons, just smithing tools.

The other one seemed to be compensating for something.

“Hey boss,” Fennec faux-whispered just loud enough that Peli could hear as well, “do you think the heavy's trying to make up for something?”

“Fennec,” Boba hissed, but there was laughter behind the warning.

“He has to be sweating to death under that,” Peli wasn't nearly as quiet.

She had a point, though. Heavy weapons users – especially ones who carried their weapons on their backs – were not suited for long-term walks through the desert. If they hadn't hydrated well before disembarking – which, if they had the same hang-ups Din had when they'd first met, the heavy absolutely had not – they'd be slower than he was used to being and unable to compensate for that.

The smith was going to be a problem, though, Fennec could tell.

Before the pair was in shouting distance, the heavy raised his weapon. Boba and Fennec drew their weapons, too, and from the corner of her eye Fennec could see Peli take two large steps backwards.

The smith did not even grab one of her weapons.

“Curious,” Fennec muttered under her breath.

The pair closed the shouting-distance gap without anyone firing off a shot.

“State your intentions,” Boba raised his voice as he spoke so he could be sure he was heard, “and lower your weapon.”

“Lower yours first!” the heavy shouted back.

There was an exchange between the heavy and the smith that Fennec could not make out, but the weapon was lowered.

“May we come closer?” the smith asked, “It would be a shame if the entire city knew our business.”

Boba, to Fennec's surprise, looked at Peli for an answer.

“Tell them sure,” Peli told Boba, “I'm not yelling like that, though, nobody needs to know how loud my voice goes.”

The subtext Fennec understood was _in case someone wants to rob me and needs to know how loud I can call for help/_

“Yes,” Boba told them, “keep the weapons lowered.” If Boba so much as whispered for help, entire armies across the stars would hear.

Boba holstered his blaster, a show of good will that meant exactly nothing so long as Fennec kept her weapon raised. Boba nodded towards Fennec and, with great reluctance, she pointed her weapon at the ground.

“You,” the smith wasted no time in addressing Peli directly once they were maybe three meters away, “have something of mine.”

“Can't say that I do,” Peli didn't move from where she stood, jaw set and eyes fierce.

The heavy's scope went down and Peli drew her blaster.

“Peli,” Boba hissed.

“There,” the Heavy pointed to a mess of netting and spare parts, “Currently hidden, but it's there.”

“No,” Peli leveled her blaster at the heavy, “No you don't.”

“You are foolish,” the heavy picked up his gun again, pointing it right at Peli.

“Paz,” the smith said, her voice level despite not leaving any room for argument.

“She's got his armor,” the heavy – his name had to be Paz – argued anyways.

“Tell me,” the smith turned her attention back to Peli, “do you know what happens to a Mandalorian's armor once they die?”

“It gets returned to their next of kin,” Peli's blaster was still leveled at Paz, “or returned to an Armorer.”

“Huh,” the smith – perhaps an Armorer, as Peli had just called the class – seemed genuinely surprised, “so you do know.”

“Din explained it to me when he came back with the armor this one's wearing,” Peli's head jerked towards Boba, “Didn't make any sense why he went to look for a Mandalorian in the middle of nowhere and came back with some shoddy-looking armor, so I asked him about it.”

“Shoddy-looking?” the Armorer asked.

“Bit of a long story,” Boba sighed heavily, “It involves an insurrection, a failed execution, and being eaten by a Sarlacc.”

“I did not know Jengo Fett had a son,” the Armor's attention turned to Boba.

“Do you all just know each other on sight?” Peli lowered her blaster.

“You recognize my armor,” Boba said it like he had the time to do so. 

“Fett?” Pas asked, “As in, Clan Fett?”

“Yes,” the Armorer said.

“Kind of?” Boba shrugged.

“What do you mean, kind of?” Paz took a step toward Boba.

“What's going on here?” Peli raised her voice.

“Suddenly, something that doesn't concern you,” Paz was honed in on Boba.

“This is my garage, I have a right to know!” Peli argued.

“Peli, not now,” Boba took a step back, drawing Paz away from Peli and her garage.

“Enough,” the Armorer's voice cut above the budding chaos. Paz seemed to shrink back.

Fennec had under-estimated just how close the smith had the heavy at her heel.

“The armor,” the Armorer said to Peli, “It is not yours.”

“Nor is it yours,” Peli still had her blaster tight in one hand, “You don't get to take it.”

“It goes back to the covert,” Paz refocused his attention on Peli, “And no matter what you do, it's coming with us.”

“It's staying here,” Peli's haw was set once more and her shoulders were square. It wasn't pride or foolishness driving her, though, Fennec could tell that much.

It was loyalty to one Din Djarin, who was too far away to be called in to add his weight to the armor's ownership claims.

“No,” the Armor was growing bored of Peli, “Absent Din, it comes with us.”

“He'll be back for it,” Peli raised her blaster directly at the Armorer, “He just told me to watch it. He said he'd be back before he left the planet.”

“Curious,” the Armorer's grip had tightened on her hammer.

“Din would never,” Paz sounded like he was spitting as he spoke, even through his helmet, a sense venom and rage overtaking the man, “He'd never take his helmet off, nonetheless leave his armor with...with **you.** ”

“Because you know him so well,” Peli snarled. She was looking between Paz and the Armorer as if trying to gauge which was the safer one to take her eyes off of.

Fennec knew the answer was neither, but she kept that to herself.

“We could ask him ourselves,” Boba suggested, “if he plans on coming back for it.”

“And you know where to find him?” the Armorer did not bother to hide her skepticism.

“I know where to find anyone on this planet,” Boba was unworried about revealing this.

“Din Djarin is no longer a Mandalorian,” Paz interrupted, “He's a coward and a pretender, hiding somewhere in this oversized desert.”

The Armorer laughed and Fennec could not tell at what.

Everyone lowered their weapons.

“The Beskar you think you are guarding belongs back with me,” the Armor had indeed grown bored of them, “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

It was time to roll the dice, Fennec decided.

“And when Din comes back and finds his armor gone and his friend murdered,” Fennec challenged, “What then?”

“With no armor and no leads, I would imagine not much,” the Armorer spun her hammer by the handle a few times.

“With the darksaber and the same drive that found one of the last Jedi in the universe,” Boba could tell where Fennec was trying to take the conversation, “I don't think anything would stop him from finding you.”

Chaos erupted in the form of shouts, each one overlapping the one before it – demands for information, for quiet, for answers, for lowered weapons – and any sort of resolution fell further away with each new shout.

A sharp whistle cut them all off. 

“This is my garage!” Peli had been the one who whistled, “If you're going to keep at your yelling, take it somewhere else. Otherwise, I'm going to load _Din's armor_ onto a cruiser and we're all going to go ask him what's happened ourselves.”

Paz looked at the Armorer, who was so focused on Peli that Paz might as well not have existed. Peli was looking at Boba, asking him if he'd actually take the two newcomers to Din. Fennec was looking at Boba, too, trying to gauge how bad of an idea this was.

Boba was looking at the horizon, having mentally already started out for Mos Pelgo.

“We're going to need to take two cruisers,” the Armorer said.

 _Okay, so we're doing this,_ Fennec thought to herself.

Two cruisers to Mos Pelgo it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are y'all ready for this?


	9. Towards Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's on the move. Alliances are shaky. If Cobb never sees another black melon in his life, he might be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be good.
> 
> Multiple POVs this chapter.

It had been an excellent idea when they'd planned it over breakfast; instead of going to the mines, Cobb would take a speeder – and Din - and scan the area for bandit camps. It kept Mos Pelgo safer, kept Cobb busy, and kept Din mostly occupied.

Din was wearing borrowed clothes – Cobb's clothes, but he tried not to think too hard on that – lightweight things made for keeping the sun off his skin and his sweat from ruining his skin at the end of the day. They were clean, but they smelled like the man anyways, always this slight scent of _Cobb_ no matter how much wind and sand washed over him. That he had his arms around Cobb's waist and his eyes closed to protect them from the sand did not help him focus on anything else.

He wasn't sure he wanted to think about anything else right now, least of all the darksaber digging into his thigh.

“Raiders,” Cobb called over his shoulder, “on the horizon, coming closer.”

“When we're in shouting range, stop and let me talk to them,” Din told Cobb.

“You're the one that gets on with them,” Cobb was trying to sound nonchalant but didn't quite hit his target, “Think they'll believe it's you without your...”

It was almost worse, the way Cobb cut himself off instead of acknowledging that Din was without his armor. Still, Din answered: “They know how different one can look stripped of their outerwear.”

He'd said it like that to distance himself from the thought of how exposed he was, but it had the opposite effect.

At least Cobb chuckled.

–

Two speeders, she'd told them. Two and they load up the armor and themselves and go off to where ever that damned Mandalorian had gotten off to and ask him about his plans for the future.

Except the _other_ Mandalorians, the three still in their armor, couldn't come to an agreement as to who rode with what, and so the five of them, Din's armor, and two repair droids were crammed into a speeder meant for three at most.

The repair droids were for when the speeder inevitably broke down. It was old to begin with – everything on this planet was old and half-forgotten – and it wasn't built to hold this much weight to begin with. They'd bought it off someone who was about to scrap it, and while that was fortunate for them to part with as little money as possible, it made the amount of time they'd spend far from _everything_ just a touch alarming.

And besides, people like Boba Fett did not deal in money, so neither he or Fennec had any on them. The other two hadn't offered to pay. Which meant this was Peli's speeder, bought with Peli's money.

And so, Peli was driving while Boba periodically gave her directions and the other three sat in what she could only describe as _an aggressive silence._

“It's nothing but sand,” the one called Paz said at some point when both suns were starting to get lower on the horizons.

“Hadn't noticed,” Peli called back to him. Boba, at least chuckled a little bit.

The aggressive silence wasted no time in returning to the speeder.

The further they went, the more the engine sounded like it was intaking sand. Peli didn't like the sound at all, but it wasn't so bad she'd call to stop the speeder.

“We're going to want to set up a camp before the suns go down completely,” Boba said some time later.

“Might have to stop before that,” Peli saw the opening and took it, “I thing she needs her engine cleaned out.”

“Is that what that sound is?” Paz asked.

“You don't travel much, do you?” Fennec sounded amused.

“Not like this, no,” Paz answered. If Peli didn't know better than to accuse a Mandalorian of feeling anything, she would have said Paz was _nervous._

“Suns go down fast this time of year,” Peli knew only the newcomers didn't know how fast it gets dark, “So either we stop early and call it time to set up camp, or we wait and set up camp later and hope the engine doesn't go down completely.”

“You seem to be in charge here,” the Armorer was probably making fun of her, “What would you recommend?”

_I'd recommend you go back to where you came from,_ she wanted to say, but thankfully what came out of her mouth was, “Stop early so we don't get stranded.”

She stopped the speeder gradually, letting it coast to its natural end rather than engaging the breaks. Peli hopped out first and one of her droids followed her. Everyone else climbed out slower, as if trying to preserve some dignity they never quite mastered.

“So, camp,” Peli said as she opened the side of the speeder to retrieve the toolbox that was always tucked away on these old things, “Anyone bring a tent?”

“No,” Boba answered like it shouldn't have been a question.

“Never needed one,” the Armorer said.

“Can't say I packed for a camping trip,” Fennec was cleaning her weapon.

And it was true – they hadn't packed for a camping trip. Nor had they packed for any other kind of journey. They had enough water not to die of thirst, sure, but there was no food, no fire starters, no blankets.

Peli hoped they could reach Mos Pelgo before the next nightfall. The speeder was poorly named – she decided to call it _Crawler_ – and Mos Pelgo was too far for any reasonable person to depart from, well, anywhere with Mos Pelgo as their destination.

She supposed that put her beyond reason.

Peli sighed and got to work cleaning out the engine. One of her droids chirped as it worked alongside her. The other had plugged itself into the engine; nobody was getting anywhere on on the speeder without Peli telling her droid to disengage.

_Good job,_ she praised the little droid in her head. 

Even a malfunctioning droid got it right sometimes.

–

This was the second time in his life he'd found himself sitting around a night fire with Tusken Raiders, and he could almost relax. It wasn't like these people had every reason to kill him on the spot and leave his body as a snack for scavengers.

Din had come through – not that Din had ever failed to come through for Cobb – and communicated their intent. Only some of the exchange had been translated, but Cobb knew enough about Din to know they weren't in any sort of trouble.

Not with the Tuskens, at least.

Cobb was handed the foul-smelling thing, he took a sip. The water had a sweetness under the foul smell that did absolutely nothing to make it pallatable.

He wasn't going to taste anything right for at least a week.

“So,” Din said to Cobb in Basic while he signed to the Tuskens sitting at the fire with them, “They say there are three more Mandalorians traveling with two humans headed this general direction.”

Cobb felt his heart drop.

“What do you think they're doing here?” Cobb asked.

“One's Boba, I'm sure of it,” Din told him, “The other two...they may be after me.”

“After you?” Cobb asked, “Figures you'd have enemies.”

One of the Tuskens said something in their native tongue, so Din translated for Cobb's sake.

“They say they're a day away, at least,” Din signed as he spoke, “but they are heavily armed.”

“Shit,” Cobb almost spat, “Mos Pelgo...”

“We'll head back at first light,” Din was still signing as he spoke, “Evacuate the city, have them hide in the mines until we're certain they're safe to return.”

“You think that's necessary?” Cobb asked.

“I think it's the safest option,” Din closed his eyes.

Cobb made a frustrated noise but said no more.

One of the Tuskens said something and Din translated like it was a reflex.

“They say they'll scout for bandits,” Din explained, “and leave Mos Pelgo and the other Mandalorians for us to handle.”

“Why would they do that?” Cobb asked and quickly added, “For us, I mean.”

“Bandits are their problem too,” Din pointed out, “And from how eager you were to scout for them, I'm guessing it's been a while.”

“Longer than usual,” Cobb admitted.

“Means they're either getting substantially fewer in number or they're regrouping to try something new,” Din sounded like he was reasoning it out as he spoke, but something about it made Cobb feel like he'd known those were the possibilities all along. 

“So, we go back to Mos Pelgo, they take care of any bandits they fine,” Din reiterated, “And we deal with whoever's coming when they get to your town.”

And that was it, wasn't it? Mos Pelgo was _Cobb's town_ , not Din's. Never Din's. But these incoming Mandalorians weren't Din's either from the sounds of it.

Cobb looked towards the horizon where, in a few hours, the suns would come up and signal the start of a day where choices would be made.

_Choices are made every day,_ he reminded himself, _But this feels bigger than usual._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, did you think I'd skip right to their arrival in Mos Pelgo?


	10. Drinks, Anyone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd call it a reunion but that implies things like forethought and
> 
> Multiple POVs again for this one!

They'd left before either sun had risen, anxiety about _his town_ and the incoming Mandalorians. He doubted these newcomers were as willing to talk before shots were fired, and without armor they were already at a notable disadvantage.

He hadn't asked why Din hadn't been able to sleep, but he suspected it was for about the same reasons.

The town had been almost too eager to evacuate; he supposed that if someone who had voluntarily been swallowed by the dragon was saying to run, questioning why they shouldn't was relegated to people with a death wish.

Seemed no one in Mos Pelgo was trying to leave early in the most permanent of ways. Even if everything else went wrong today, knowing that the town's people – _his people_ – wanted to survive even at the cost of their own pride flooded him with relief beyond words. Mos Pelgo had seen enough loss and _forced labor_ and now that they were **free** they wanted to hold on to that life.

He wasn't going to lose his people. He'd take as many weapons from the town's weapon store as he could carry if it made him feel more capable.

_But your people might lose you,_ that traitorous voice in the back of his head reminded him.

_One for all,_ he tried to cobble together the sentiment that was driving him from moment to moment, tried to put words to the thought that if he was here, whoever was coming for his town would, at the absolute worst, take his life and his town, but his people could find a way to start over. In reality, he knew nothing would be so simple.

But it was getting him through for now.

“If the Tuskens were right, they should be here any minute,” Din's voice snapped him out of his own head.

“Great,” Cobb let all the air out of his lungs, “let's do this.”

“You could have gone with them,” Din seemed to sense what Cobb was fixating on, even if it was a little off.

“And leave you on your own?” Cobb tried to grin but it came across more as a grimace, “Can't say we've got an explosive-strapped _anything_ for you to go make yourself into the hero this time, Din.”

“Never wanted to be a hero in the first place,” Din muttered as he turned away. Cobb took three oversized steps to catch Din by the wrist and pull them closer together.

Din looked confused but didn't protest, so Cobb lifted Din's hand and kissed Din's knuckles. Din smiled, an honest, reflexive thing, and Cobb's heart _soared_.

“I want to help you,” Cobb had hoped to get something much more meaningful across.

“You already have,” Din's words were tired but his eyes were honest.

“No sense in stopping now,” Cobb wasn't sure if he was referring to trying to help Din or protecting Mos Pelgo.

“I suppose not,” Din nodded, “Let's go wait.”

Cobb nodded and lowered Din's hand but didn't let go. Din didn't shake him off, just lead him outside like that, Cobb with his blaster and Din with his tube that seemed far too heavy for its size.

–

Peli couldn't remember much from her last trip outside her city's walls. It had been hot, hotter than this one, and she'd been alone, trying to secure some parts without having to pay a messenger. It hadn't been a long trip, but it had been a terrifying one. At least in the city, if you were struck down your body would be found pretty quickly.

Being alone was terrifying.

Still, if she found a way to dump these four in the middle of the desert and take her droids back home, she was going to do it. 

“I can see Mos Pelgo,” she was the only one in the speeder without a scope, “which means you all can probably see the people walking around.”

“The town appears to be empty,” Fennec was looking down her gun.

“Oh no,” Peli said before she could stop herself.

“Everyone might be inside,” the Armorer suggested.

“This is a mining town,” Boba was drumming his fingers on the edge of the speeder and the noise was resonating at the base of Peli's skull, “there would be at least a few people outside.”

“Hmn,” the Armorer seemed somehow more perturbed than Boba, but she wasn't showing it. That sound though, that little noise gave her away.

“Wait,” Fennec held up a hand in what seemed to be a habitual gesture, “I see...two someones.”

“Is one Din?” Peli demanded, “Tell me now, is one of them Din?”

“I,” Fennec paused for a moment, “Yeah, one's Din.”

“Does everyone know what his face looks like?” Paz said it with so much venom that Peli could have slapped him if it would do more than just break her hand.

“You weren't on that ship,” Fennec snarled, “You have no idea what happened.”

“Oh, what, you were?” Paz was trying to taunt her.

“Fennec,” Boba warned.

“I was,” Fennec was on her feet and facing Paz, “And where were you? You seem pretty invested in him, so where were you when he needed people?”

Peli felt the speeder shift as Paz rose to his feet, too.

This speeder wasn't big enough for all of them, nevermind a fight.

Peli let their overlapping shouts fade to the back of her mind as she focused on slamming on the brakes.

One of her droids toppled right out of the vehicle. Fennec lept to the side of the speeder, her balance precarious but there. Paz fell to one knee, clearly not used to traveling in ways that didn't come with artificial gravity. Boba, she noticed, was still on his seat, however precariously. 

“Either quit or get out and walk,” Peli warned as she started the craft again.

“Fine,” Paz growled as he started to ignite his jet pack.

Peli was glad she turned around in time to watch the Armorer hook Paz's armor and keep him down.

“She said walk,” the Armor sounded so, so amused.

Peli stopped the craft, gently this time, and waited for Paz to decide if his pride was worth missing whatever went down in Mos Pelgo.

Paz sat back down, but as Peli turned her attention back to the steering, she noticed the Armorer had not unhooked Paz.

She might grow to like the Armorer, if the Armor didn't hurt Din once they got there.

–

Din hadn't let go of Cobb's hand.

Sure, they were standing in the middle of the street, completely exposed, and both hands available might have been a good idea, but Cobb's hand was _warm_ , and _calloused_ , and _human_ and Din did not want to let go.

Judging by how Cobb was periodically squeezing his hand, Cobb didn't want to let go, either. 

“Something's on the horizon,” Cobb was squinting, “Bit bigger than your speeder.”

“I see it,” Din forced himself to focus.

“Now what?” Cobb asked.

“We wait, I think,” Din said despite the urge to run. In his pocket, the darksaber felt far too heavy.

Cobb nodded and squeezed Din's hand again.

–

The Armorer knew it was Din before they were in shouting distance. Even without his armor, there was a pride behind the man's fear that was an asset rather than a liability. The man beside him, meanwhile, seemed to be attached to one Din Djarin at the palm. Similar in stance and drive but wild; this was not a man who'd been trained to fight, but rather someone who'd come to their station through tenacity and need.

She wasn't sure which was more of a potential threat.

“Din!” Peli jumped over the front of the speeder and ran towards the one they'd come here to verify his status among the living.

“Peli?” Din seemed horribly confused as he half-returned the hug, his one hand still attached to the stranger, moreso after Peli nearly took him down with a hug, “Peli, what are you doing here?”

“Them,” Peli took a few steps backwards and gestured more towards the empty sky than actually towards anyone, “They showed up and demanded they take your armor back and I refused.”

“How are you alive?” Din asked, “Not complaining.”

“She decided they come ask you your plans about returning to being a proper Mandalorian themselves,” Boba explained, “and I'm not letting these two loose on my planet.”

“Your planet?” the stranger asked.

“He claimed the throne,” Fennec said it in such a way that it seemed more of a threat than supporting information.

“You claimed the throne?” Din asked, “I thought you were indifferent about going back to Tatooine.”

“Never said that,” Boba almost seemed snappy despite his outward calm.

“There's a throne?” the stranger asked.

Peli whistled her sharp whistle again and and fight stopped before it started.

“Din,” she addressed Din directly, “what are your plans for your armor?”

“I,” Din faltered.

Paz's finger was on his trigger.

“You'll need it, won't you?” the stranger asked, “Now that you've got that saber, you'll need to get back in your armor.”

“Saber?” Paz was starting to raise his weapon.

“Quit it,” the Armorer tapped Paz on the back of the leg with her hammer.

“Quit what?” Paz lowered his weapon.

“Din,” the Armorer had an idea what the answer was to the question she was about to ask, “what is he talking about?”

“I, uh,” Din fumbled in his pocket for a second before producing a small tube. 

“Is that...” Paz dropped his weapon entirely.

“It's a long story,” Din sighed and extended the blade of the darksaber, “but I've got a claim to the throne.”

**“And you left your armor with me!?”** Peli smacked Din upside the head, “You're a _king_ now and you, you what? Ran away naked to a mining town that doesn't even exist on maps anymore?”

“Not naked,” was all Din said.

“Hey,” the stranger pulled Din's arm, pulled Din closer to him, “easy.”

And there it was – there was no Foundling in sight, no _Razor Crest_ , no bounty...just a stranger that seemed far too familiar with Din to have been caught in the crossfire of whatever was brewing.

“Nothing about this is easy,” Din muttered.

They stood there, the seven of them plus Peli's droids, waiting for someone to make a move, to say something, for something to _happen_.

“Well,” the stranger said, “why don't we all go sit down for a drink and actually have a conversation about whatever this is.”

Adding alcohol to this was the worst idea the Armorer had heard in years.

“Lead the way,” she told the stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're all a bunch of himbos. Except Peli. Peli carries the brain cell.


	11. Above the Chatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: It's time for a drink. Probably. Maybe. If anyone stops talking long enough to take a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise POV!
> 
> I couldn't help myself.

Ever since the Marshal had taken control of the town some five years ago, there had been little that surprised Mos Pelgo's resident bartender.

This man, this scrawny thing who'd saved his life and disappeared – assumed dead – and then returned in armor that told the story of how its previous owner had come to find themself devoid of their armor.

And then he'd waged war on the people who had tried to claim Mos Pelgo as their own. A brief war, but the very spirit of it made naming it anything else seem like a disservice. The armor held up and kept the Marshal alive. For the first time in memory, Mos Pelgo was a free town, one of its own in charge. Marshal didn't rule, but rather kept everyone safe. 

Sure, the armor was gone now, but so were the raiders. And the dragon. And, as of late, so were the bandits.

So when someone else came into his bar wearing what looked like a restored version of the Marshal's armor, he found himself reconsidering the decision to disobey the Marshal's orders to stay hidden in the mines.

The Marshal looked him up and down and only barely let a frown slip through before he opened hos mouth.

“Take the entire bottle,” he said as he put a bottle of spotchka on the counter, “Take two, really.” A second bottle joined the first in short order.

“Thanks,” the Marshal almost sounded like he meant it.

There were indeed three wearing armor similar to the Marshal's, but two were only similar insofar as their ability to see out of those helmets was questionable. One of them had something like a skirt, which, well, he wasn't about to openly question someone who could probably kill him from the other side of the planet, but private judgments were another story and skirts weren't a part of military uniforms for a reason.

Whoever had come to town two nights ago was currently attached to the Marshal, and he looked terrified. 

Not that the bartender blamed him.

The armor-wearers were all trying to prove who outranked who through body language, as if the one with the heavy weaponry couldn't turn his bar into a massacre.

There were two without armor, though the one with the sniper gun looked like she could hold her own just fine in a fire fight. It was the last one, with a little droid skittering around her feet, who he wasn't sure how she'd made it this far alive. Despite being small and hot having any visible weapons, she didn't seem too worried about the current situation.

“So,” the Marshal opened up the conversation as he picked up both bottles, “where'd everybody get lost? I'm still stuck on the whole _Tatooine has a throne_ thing, but I feel like that's low on the list of information not everybody has.”

The bartender started wishing he _had_ stayed in the mines.

“How did you come to have the darksaber?” the one with the skirt asked the one who'd come to town two days ago.

“And why'd you take it but not your armor?” the smallest one asked.

The bartender made a mental note to start asking names so he might at least cut down on half the identity-by-descriptors.

“I,” the man tried to say something and then faltered.

“Why?” the heavy mechanist one asked, “Just. Why?”

It was a wounded thing, both the asking and the words themselves, and the bartender wondered how deep the wound ran.

“The foundling,” the one with the skirt said, “where is it now?”

“With his people,” the one attached to the Marshall said, “He. He's with his people.”

Far too many things clicked into place at once for the bartender.

“You kept the foundling alive that long?” the heavy mechanist asked.

The one with the skirt tapped the heavy mechanist on the leg with her hammer.

“Not alone, no, but he's alive,” the first Mandalorian who ever visited Mos Pelgo said with a weary sigh.

“Who were your allies?” the one with the skirt asked.

“There were many. These two, though I see you've met already,” the first Mandalorian indicated the one wearing the Marshal's armor and , “Cara, you met her, briefly.”

“Ah, yes,” the one with the skirt said after a fraction of a moment's consideration, “What about the man and the IG droid?”

“The droid sacrificed himself so we could escape,” the first Mandalorian did not even try to hide his grimace, “The man...was helpful, but not the sort who would have followed us onto Moff Gideon's cruiser.”

“Moff...” the one with the skirt rose to her feet and the heavy mechanist followed suite – that was one question of pecking order answered even if he'd assumed the inverse, several to go – and the one wearing the Marshal's armor also got to his feet, though that seemed more of an aggressive move than a following one.

The Marshal cleared his throat and the one with the skirt sat back down.

“I thought Moff Gideon was executed,” the heavy mechanist hadn't sat back down.

“So did a lot of people,” the first Mandalorian was staring at the heavy mechanist like it might make him drop where he stood.

“Who else?” the one with the skirt asked as if the outburst hadn't just happened.

“Uhm,” the first Mandalorian drummed his fingertips on the table, “Bo-Katan...”

The heavy mechanist straight-up dropped his weapon and it hit the bar's floor with a sound that suggested floor damage.

“She helped?” the one with the skirt sounded amused.

“She wanted nothing more than the darksaber,” the first Mandalorian told everyone, “I got it off Moff, but she didn't want to take it. Something about having to win it in combat instead of being handed it.”

“You defeated Moff Gideon?” the heavy mechanist hadn't picked up his weapon yet, “You?”

“Moss had your kid, didn't he?” the smallest one asked. Her voice was full of empathy, something the bartender hadn't seen from any of the other visitors.

The first Mandalorian nodded.

A parent, the bartender knew, did questionable things to keep their kid safe. It had been an understanding of a parent's instinct that kept the Marshal from opening up a firefight in the bar. Anyone who felt the need to keep their kid in arm's reach would hesitate before spilling blood they didn't absolutely need to spill.

“Well shit, Mando,” the smallest one said, “You coulda said something about it before you ran off!”

“I don't think there are words for it,” the first Mandalorian muttered.

“Don't call him Mando,” the heavy mechanist snarled, “He's not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“The hell he is!” the smallest one fired back.

“If anyone isn't a Mandalorian here,” the one wearing the Marshal's armor spoke up and removed it's helmet, “It's me.”

“You're the clone,” the one with the skirt narrowed her eyes.

“No,” the one wearing the Marshal's armor was a smug one, “Well, yes, but not in the way you're thinking.”

“The clones were all grown at an accelerated rate,” the one with the gun said, “If he were a clone like you're implying, he'd've been dead a long time ago.”

“So more like a son, then,” the one with the skirt reasoned.

The one with the Marshal's armor tapped his arm a few times and some letters the bartender didn't understand.

“Fascinating,” the one with the skirt did not sound fascinated, “However, we're getting away from the point of why we're all assembled here.”

“Why,” the one with the gun deadpanned, “Why, indeed.”

“You show up on my planet,” the one wearing the Marshal's armor said, “threaten _my people_ , and now you're at the last remote mining outpost doing what exactly?”

“We're here for the armor,” the heavy mechanist said.

“The creed,” the first Mandalorian breathed, “Once I've taken off my helmet in front of another, I can't put it back on.”

“Well that's just a bunch of bullshit,” the smallest one said, “He can't, what, he can't eat in front of people, can't kiss anyone, couldn't even kiss his child! That child was an _**infant**_!”

“I am aware I didn't take the best care of-” the first Mandalorian started saying.

“Hush,” the smallest one was only slightly less forceful at him, “You,” she pointed at the one with the skirt, “You're the one in charge of...whatever you call a cohort of Mandalorians.”

“Covert,” the heavy machinist interrupted.

“Who the hell pronounces their h's like 'v's?” the smallest one asked.

“No, it's _called_ a covert,” the first Mandalorian explained. 

“So you're in charge of the covert,” the smallest one rolled her eyes, “Then you're the one responsible for teaching him that can't-put-his-helmet -back-on nonsense.”

“It is the Way,” the one with the skirt said.

“In my experience,” the Marshal's voice was anger coated with steel, too cold and solid to be anything but a warning that something so much _More_ awaited, “any _creed_ that doesn't allow for questioning or exceptions is just a step away from emulating the Imps.”

“The Way,” the heavy mechanist started to pick up his weapon, “is what keeps us as Mandalorians together.”

“It's what keeps you obedient,” the Marshal snarled.

“When the Great Purge wiped nearly all of us out,” the first Mandalorian was spinning the tube the rest of the company seemed overly interested in, “before I was Found, but I know our histories,” he took a deep breath before he continued, “After the Great Purge, we scattered across the galaxy to keep the Mandalorians alive. The coverts, they have to maintain secrecy if they're going to survive. I'm sure some Mandalorians are alone, hidden.”

“So you lost everything,” the Marshal reached out to squeeze the first Mandalorian's hand, “Your people, I mean.”

“And the kids you find are your future,” the smallest one finished, “No matter where the kids come from.”

“Orphans,” the heavy mechanist said, “If we find ourselves in a situation where a child has been orphaned, we take it in. We raise it, or we get it back to its people.”

“Seems a bit altruistic for a warrior race,” the one with the gun said.

“The Foundlings are our future,” the one with the skirt said, and they have a _choice_ whether or not they become a Mandalorian or chose to live a life as...anyone else.”

“And what choice do they have, really?” the Marshal's face was red from his anger, “You take a kid who's lost everything, raise them, teach them _you_ are their community, their family, their sense of place in the universe. What _child_ would choose to lose everything twice?”

“I was a Foundling,” the first Mandalorian said, “I survived because my parents, they sacrificed themselves so I could make it. I...I can still hear the explosion that killed them, still hear their panicked voices and-”

“Easy,” the Marshal squeezed the first Mandalorian's hand and leaned a little closer. The bartender doubted the Marshal had done so consciously.

“A life debt,” the one with the gun said, “in its own way.”

“Who else?” the one with the skirt ended that conversation and went back to one of their first ones , “Who else helped?”

“Over the entire thing of it?” the first Mandalorian wasn't really asking a question, “Kuiil, he died defending the child. So did IG-11. Bo-Katan and her people. Cara. Greef.”

“And this one?” the heavy mechanist indicated the Marshal with a point of his gun, “He help you too?”

“Well,” the first Mandalorian hesitated, “I was looking for other Mandalorians, like you told me to. I heard there was one on Tatooine. It was him, in armor he bought off some Jawas.”

“Which,” the heavy mechanist interrupted, “How did you part from your armor?”

“I was fed to a Sarlacc,” the one in the Marshal's armor said, “Jetpack busted me out, but I was nearly killed in the process. I went completely out of control and lost consciousness when I landed. Woke up naked in the middle of the desert.”

“Oh that's just,” the Marshal winced, “I was wearing something that went inside a Sarlacc and came out?”

“That would explain its condition,” the first Mandalorian muttered.

“And why didn't you just kill him and take the armor?” the heavy mechanist asked.

“Long story,” the first Mandalorian said, “but it involves a dragon.”

“A dragon?” the heavy mechanist asked, “Seriously, a dragon?”

“It kept getting closer and closer to town,” the Marshal interrupted, “damn near swallowed us.”

“So why would you help him?” the heavy mechanist asked.

“It nearly swallowed me whole, too,” the first Mandalorian added.

“Did swallow you,” the Marshal pointed out.

“I had to,” the first Mandalorian lowered his head, “We'd run out of options. I couldn't. My armor's pure Beskar. I could handle it. I couldn't let that thing keep terrorizing people. Like you said, it could have come for the school, could have swallowed your town's entire future...”

The first Mandalorian, the barkeeper decided, was one hell of a parent.

“So you saved the town and he gave you Fett's armor,” the one with the skirt reasoned, “And why, Marshal, would you give up the armor so willingly? Surely the dragon was not the only threat to your town.”

“Din here managed to broker a peace treaty with the Tuskens,” the Marshal explained and the bartender filed the first Mandalorian's name for immediate use, “and the bandits have been awful thin lately.”

“You?” the heavy mechanist, “You brokered a treaty?”

“They had a common goal,” Din said, “and a common goal makes treaties easy to broker.”

“You should have just taken it,” the heavy mechanist muttered, “Might have saved you the trouble of getting eaten by a dragon.”

“So hold up here,” the smallest one brought everyone to a halt and drew everyone's attention to her, “we have one person here who's been eaten by a dragon and another by a Sarlacc.”

“Mandalorians are warriors,” the one with the skirt said.

“And survivors,” the smallest one said, “Survivors who, if Din is anything to go by, will do the right thing over the selfish thing.”

There was a heavy silence where nobody said anything.

Din took a swig of spotchka right from the bottle.

“What?” Din asked when he noticed everyone was looking at him.

“You know,” the smallest one took the bottle from Din and took a drink herself, “good idea.”

The one with the skirt chuckled.

“To surviving,” the Marshal took the bottle from the smallest one, “and to two new Kings.”

“Do Mandalorians who become Kings have to get eaten by monsters first?” the smallest one asked.

“Just these two,” the one with the skirt said effortlessly.

And there it was: a silent cede to whatever power Din had apparently come into.

Now the actual conversation was about to start.

The bartender drew two more bottles of spotchka for the occasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I've just started working 40-hour work weeks for the first time since the the pandemic started and my brain has been comprised mostly of mashed potatoes this week. hopefully this longer-than-usual chapter with character development makes up for it. <3
> 
> I genuinely love how 'the one with the skirt' implies she may be wearing it, may be just. Carrying it along with her.
> 
> This was going to be a oneshot smut and I blew that goal right out the gate. I'm glad y'all are enjoying this monster of a story that's unfolding!


	12. King with the Broken Creed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Finally, finally, everyone has an actual conversation.
> 
> Except Paz. Paz is just having A Time (tm).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I had to get all the chaos out first.
> 
> Enjoy!

Din's life used to be simple.

He hunted. He got paid. He gave his spoils to his covert. He slept, if there was time. Then he left again. He hunted. The cycle repeated itself.

There was no cycle anymore, hadn't been a cycle since he'd broken the Guild's code and gone back for the chi-

Since Grogu entered his life.

And left his life.

Nothing would be simple again.

“So, we have two kings,” Peli said, “One of Tatooine, one of – where you from, Mando?”

Din appreciated Peli's dissent more than he would ever have words for.

“Mandalore,” Din told her, “but Mandalore is...it's uninhabitable. Even if I _was_ it's ruler, I'd be the ruler of a dead planet.”

“There are others,” the Armorer said, “Habitable planets that were once ours.”

“You're suggesting we reconvene?” Din asked, “Take a new planet, rally all survivors?”

“It's not _not_ a possibility,” the Armorer told him.

“Bringing that many of us together,” Paz growled, “We might as well just hand ourselves over to the Imps!”

“We'd stand a better chance now,” Din wasn't sure why he was arguing for what may well be the retaking of a planet he'd never been to, “As a people, we've gotten scrappier, gotten smarter.”

“And the Imperial weapons have gotten bigger,” Paz growled.

“So what, we run, we hide, we spend the rest of our _lives_ scattered across the stars, hiding in the shadows? “ Din still wasn't sure why he was arguing this, “We, we take forgotten children and raise _them_ in the shadows, fleeing from planet to planet to show them they need to spend their lives either hiding or running?”

“Are you suggesting we just line the Foundlings up front on whatever planet you're going to rule?” Paz challenged, “You, without your armor, are going to, what? Protect them? Decides who goes out to die first?”

“I,” Din felt himself faltering again despite trying to do the exact opposite: he wanted so badly to sound like he knew what he was doing, like he _could_ lead if he had to rather than spend the rest of his life running.

Instead, he felt the world kicked out from under him like it was fresh again. Until just a few minutes ago, he thought he was alone, his covert scattered or dead, no one to bring his bounty payments back to, no family-ish setting that _needed _him for the work he did. Now, as two people he knew better than most – his Armorer and rival – sat at the table with him, he couldn't tell where his place was in whatever covert they'd scraped back together without him.__

__Mandalorians like him didn't happen. Once you lost everything, you _lost everything._ You did not mourn; you did not stop to think about what could have been different. You pushed forward, costs be damned. You sealed off whatever part of yourself that dared to hurt and let it atrophy. _ _

__“You,” Paz said mocking, “Yeah, exactly.”_ _

__Peli smacked Paz upside the helmet like she stood a chance against him._ _

__Just as quickly as Paz started to reach for his knife, Cobb grabbed Paz's wrist plate and held it firm._ _

__“No,” Cobb's command was absolute. “Just. No.”_ _

__Din was fairly certain he was going to see the end of two of his three entire probably-should-call-them-friends-at-this-point figures he'd managed to amass these past few months, plus some other assorted carnage if Paz didn't decide to come for him as well._ _

__Which, if that _was_ about to be the case, would mean _**Paz**_ would be King._ _

__Din didn't let that thought continue whatever course it was trying to take._ _

__Paz, with all the hubris of a Foundling who'd chosen the Vizsla clan name, would be a terrifying ruler. So quick to anger and even quicker to judgment, the Mandalorian people united under the likes of Paz would not last long at all._ _

__Paz jerked his wrist out of Cobb's hand and grunted, but lowered his weapon._ _

__“Can you wield it?” the Armorer asked, “Can you, Din Djarin, actually wield the darksaber?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Din said absently, “Is not being able to wield it an option?”_ _

__“What do you know of its history?” the Armorer asked, her question sharp._ _

__“Apparently nothing,” Din felt his eyes lower themselves as he admitted it._ _

__The Armorer took a deep breath and explained its history, from the first Mandalorian Jedi to how the Jedi and Mandalorians found themselves enemies to the faction of Mandalorians that aligned themselves with the Empire prior to the Great Purge because they thought the Empire's power could be built on to form a sort-of Mandalorian Empire in the wake of the war._ _

__“Wow,” was all Din could say when she was done talking._ _

__“Vizsla...” Paz's voice was empty now, a shell of his normal bravado, “He, they..?”_ _

__“Not in the histories most are taught,” the Armorer just sounded _tired_ , and Din's heart hurt for her._ _

__Din had never really considered what her story could be; he never asked. It was clear now, though, that she knew this history because she'd _lived_ it. Not just lived during it – she'd been at the heart of it._ _

__The Armorer – _his Armorer_ – had sided with the Sith, and she saw that choice as a hole in her very existence._ _

__“So if I can wield this,” Din turned the handle of the darksaber over in his palm, “I'm..?”_ _

__“Force sensitive would be most likely,” the Armorer told him, “You wielded it after you secured your Foundling from Gideon, yes?”_ _

__“Correct,” Din nodded._ _

__“So you're saying that Din's, what, unconscious mind rallied and he was able to tap into the Force?” Peli asked._ _

__The armorer hummed and nodded._ _

__“Can you do it while not under duress?” Paz asked._ _

__“I'll let you know should I reach a point in my life where I'm not under duress,” Din grumbled._ _

__Cobb made a sad, disgruntled noise and squeezed Din's thigh. Din felt the corners of his mouth quirk up for a moment, something he wasn't familiar with but wanted to feel over and over again._ _

__–_ _

__They talked for hours, circling the same points that Din's life was going to either build or shatter around – Mandalore's rightful sovereign and Force sensitive and in violation of the Creed he swore himself to – but ultimately got nowhere._ _

__There was nowhere to go here, not really, and there was nothing to be done about the fact Din and his armor were still very much parted._ _

__It was impossible, Paz thought, for someone who abandoned the Creed and ran away to a place that managed to be a desert planet's middle of nowhere._ _

__And yet._ _

__And yet, here they were._ _

__As the day grew closer to night, people started to filter in. It started with one, a burly man whose Basic was choppy asking Cobb if they could all come home – his words, all come home – and the trickle of people became a torrent, more people than Paz thought such a small town could hold._ _

__They decided, almost silently, that the conversation needed to end. They rose almost at the same time and went outside. Paz was thankful his helmet included an air filter; he imagined he'd be breathing almost as much sand as air despite the lack of wind._ _

__The people of Mos Pelgo went about their business as if there were no strangers in town. Some of them were skittish, but overall they _trusted_ this Cobb and his words. Cobb said it was safe to return, so they treated the strangers like they were a part of the very fabric that held the town together._ _

__There were children even children – the very future of Mos Pelgo – skipping in the streets as their massiffs made noises that drew no alarm but, to Paz, sounded like a rallying cry._ _

__“Hey don't those things normally hang with the raiders?” Peli squinted as she stared at the animals and children tumbling together._ _

__“Normally, yes,” Cobb was grinning, “Since Din here negotiated a peace between Mos Pelgo and the raid – the Tuskens – we've had a few...well, I don't want to call them incidents but I don't really know enough words to describe it different – where some Tuskens traded with us. These dogs, they were pups when one of the incidents happened and they bonded with some of the kids and the Tuskens...let the animals stay.”_ _

__The Armorer shook her head and chuckled._ _

__“Din Djarin the Force has been guiding you more than you realize,” she said._ _

__“What do you mean?” Din asked._ _

__“Ever since you rescued the Foundling, you've been in the right place at the right time,” she elaborated, “Found the right people, the ones you needed.”_ _

__“Is that how you knew getting eaten by the dragon would work?” Cobb asked._ _

__“I don't know,” Din was shrunk in on himself, shoulders hunched forward and head tilted downward, “I just saw the bantha loaded with explosives and could feel the dragon targeting me and my armor is Beskar so unless it bit down on me, I was going to survive.”_ _

__“My people mean nothing to you,” Cobb said, “Hell, after you knocked me out of the fight you could have let everyone get eaten, knocked me out, taken the armor, and left with your kid.”_ _

__Paz noticed how Din flinched when Cobb called the Foundling _your kid.__ _

__“And for what?” Cobb asked, “There is no honor in turning my back on people I've agreed to help.”_ _

__“Sounds to me like you find yourself in a lot of situations where you put other people's need for safety before your own,” Peli added._ _

__“You secured my armor _hours_ before I'd finally tracked it down to Mos Pelgo,” Boba told everyone, “Five years looking for it and you found it in, what, a couple of weeks?”_ _

__“Something like that,” Din muttered_ _

__“And you knew all the people who made the perfect team to take down Gideon,” Fennec added, “So many things can't be just an accident of your existence._ _

__**_An accident of your existence._** Paz filed the phrase away for later use._ _

__Din looked like he might will himself to become a part of the sand to avoid thinking about how much of his life since he'd taken in a Foundling was more predetermined by some invisible Force Paz could not even try to reach out for._ _

__“So,” Cobb broke the silence, “Seems like it's dark out and you five came in on one speeder.”_ _

__“And?” the Marshal asked._ _

__“Wouldn't recommend traveling at night if you can avoid it,” Cobb said. “You're welcome to stay at my place until the morning.”_ _

__Paz looked the the Armorer for a cue. She looked pointedly at Din, then at Cobb, then back at Din._ _

__“I'd rather sleep naked outside,” she said, “but thank you for your offer of hospitality.”_ _

__Paz wasn't entirely sure the sound he made came from him; maybe it was something spawned from the absolute horror of the image of _the Armorer_ abandoning the Creed in such a blatant way._ _

__“Well,” Cobb cleared his throat and chuckled in rapid succession, “Offer's out there, minus one of you.”_ _

__“We'll be going,” Boba spoke for himself and Fennec, “But you two, you've got your questions answered. I would strongly suggest leaving my planet as soon as you can.”_ _

__Paz growled but said nothing; he hated the threat but there were bigger, more pressing problems that, while the problems had no threats attached, Paz wished they did. Problems were easy. Shapeless things that held impossible futures? Those Paz could not deal with, could not solve._ _

__He feared he'd be bound to this, whatever it was, and never wanted to go home so badly in his life._ _

__“There are other places to sleep,” a complete stranger who happened to be in earshot, “I can ask around who's able to let someone sleep in their house, or you all can use the school building.”_ _

__“That would be better than outside,” the Armorer conceded, “Thank you.”_ _

__“Is everyone normally this welcoming?” Paz asked, “To strangers?”_ _

__“No,” the one who'd offered places to sleep answered, “Mos Pelgo used to hate outsiders.”_ _

__“What changer?” Peli asked._ _

__“He showed up,” the stranger indicated Din, “and we learned that a lot of things can be sorted without bloodshed.”_ _

__Paz wasn't expecting anything in the direction of that answer._ _

__He thought about why the Armorer would forsake everything before she slept in the same dwelling as someone who was once in the very covert she anchored._ _

__He thought about it a little more._ _

___Oh,_ Paz realized, _**Oh.**__ _

__He decided he'd sleep in the school. King with the Broken Creed or not, Din still deserved his privacy._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Armorer' vs. 'his Armorer.' Someone's got some detachment issues and needs to actually integrate into his own life.
> 
> The next chapter is just going to be porn. Plot will resume in chapter 14.


	13. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb's worried about something. Din's never had a way with words, but he's sure he can put Cobb's mind at ease anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's just porn y'all, no plot I promise.

Din was back in Cobb's house. 

It still smelled ever so faintly of the stew they'd made that morning, when Din had insisted he didn't need to eat before they started evacuating the town and Cobb they were both going to eat before they left the house.

Din was thankful, really, even if he hadn't shown it. Quite the opposite, really, but Din had accepted he was terrible at expressing gratitude many years ago.

Cobb came in a few moments later and locked the door behind him.

“Everyone's set up for the night,” he told Din, “All three of them are in the school room, the two that said they were leaving might as well have disappeared, which just leaves you to get settled.”

“I'm here,” Din told him even if he knew it didn't make any sense as a response. 

“I'm glad,” Cobb's face was a mask that betrayed something troubling him more than expressing whatever it was outright would have.

Din made a noise caught somewhere between thoughtful and annoyed. He didn't think Cobb was lying, but nor did he think Cobb was telling him what he actually needed to know.

“Stew again for dinner?” Din asked. He'd had more to drink throughout the day than he had in months, and save for breakfast it had been on an empty stomach. Nerve, really, and he was stone cold sober now, but food was still a good idea.

“Yeah,” Cobb was already headed towards the kitchen, “I'm afraid we don't get much in the way of variety out here. Same food, same people,” Cob paused and a small chuckle escaped, “same sand.”

“Stew is fine,” Din tried to assure him.

“You certainly get used to it,” there was something in Cobb's voice that hadn't been there this morning.

Din closed his eyes to try to let himself focus on what he was missing. It was obvious, he was sure of it, he just didn't know quite what he was supposed to be looking _at_.

“Wanna help chop?” Cobb asked.

“Always,” Din shrugged, opened his eyes, and started heading towards the kitchen. Whatever he was looking for felt like it was trying to take shape.

“Don't say things you don't mean,” Cobb had probably been trying to tease, but it came out with a bite Din hadn't expected.

The thing tugged at his mind, wriggling against Din's emotional blindness.

“Always,” Din repeated, testing to see if that was the word the thing was struggling against.

“Din,” Cobb put down the knife he was using, let it rest flat on the counter.

“Cobb,” Din walked behind the man and embraced him so they were back-to-chest.

And the thing took shape in his mind just like that – a wounded, terrified thing that was Cobb's bravado trying to cover the man's fears of being left behind.

“I couldn't,” Din held Cobb around the waist as he tried to explain to Cobb why he'd trekked all over the stars to assemble a small army but hadn't included Cobb in that line-up, “Mos Pelgo needs you. All Mos Pelgo has is you.”

“And all I've ever had was Mos Pelgo,” Cobb folder his arms over Din's, “Born here. Several times I've been pretty sure I'd die here. But I haven't. I keep surviving all these impossible things.”

“And here we are,” the _we_ felt important for Din to say.

“Here we are,” it sounded so sad when Cobb said it.

“Words have never really been my strong suit,” Din mumbled into the base of Cobb's neck.

“What use would I have even been?” Cobb asked, “Without the armor, I'm just a man again.”

“Don't talk like that,” Din said it so quickly it almost sounded like he was snapping at Cobb, “You're still their Marshal.”

“Din, please” Cobb said it like a warning rather than a request.

“And if I had come here to find the cease fire had been broken?” every word was a surprise to Din as he said it, “If I'd come back to get the man who's willing to lay down his life to protect what's his to find he'd already done just that? I couldn't...”

Cobb made a sound that suggested he understood Din's first _I couldn't_ now.

“Show me,” Cobb whispered it like he was afraid of what he was saying, “Show me what you mean.”

Din tugged at Cobb until they were facing each other and he was standing on the balls of his feet so he could reach to kiss Cobb properly.

The kiss was a hungry thing, nearly as much teeth as lip and tongue, the fear and desperation and whatever undercurrent the day had built sweeping them both away with it.

Din managed to get Cobb's belt unbuckled first, a fumbling thing, his hands shaking. He made quick work of the buttons and zippers and let gravity do the rest before he moved on to removing his own belt and pants.

Free of the worst of their clothing, Din's hands found their way to Cobb's hips. Cobb made a pleasing sound and Din dug his fingers into Cobb's muscles, his fingernails into Cobb's skin. Cobb's hips bucked towards Din and Din was sure he was doing the right thing.

Still.

“Good?” Din managed to ask through the kiss.

“Very,” Cobb breathed his answer as his hands found their way to the small of Din's back. 

Din managed to kick his shoes off with minimal moments of wondering if he was going to knock them both over. Cobb did the same with far, far more grace.

They broke apart for a few heartbeats to shed their shirts and underthings.

“Cobb,” Din growled the other man's name as he pinned Cobb against the counter.

“Oh Din,” Cobb pressed a series of kisses onto Din's forehead, each with more force behind it than the last.

“I'm STI-negative,” Din told him.

“Huh?” Cobb took a second but said, “Oh. Oh! Yeah, yeah, shit, sorry. Yeah, me, too,” without Din having to explain anything.

Din dropped to his knees and he could hear Cobb start to ask something.

Now was not the time for more questions.

Din licked the head of Cobb's cock, testing. Cobb's dick twitched and a small moan escaped Cobb and Din licked his own palm before using it to slick the length of Cobb's shaft.

“Oh Din,” one of Cobb's hands had threaded itself through Din's hair.

Din took as much of Cobb's cock into his mouth as he could, careful to wrap his lips around his teeth and using his hand to stop Cobb from impaling the back of his throat. His other hand found itself wrapped around the back of Cobb's thigh, fingers digging into the muscle and nails almost digging into Cobb's skin.

He was careful at first; he couldn't remember much from the last time he'd done this and he certainly wasn't sure where his gag reflex was. 

Until Cobb managed to take the safety off with a groaned, “Oh yes please,” and a tug at Din's hair.

The feeling of getting his hair pulled was _electric_ and he almost started talking with his mouth full to ask Cobb to do that again.

He didn't need to ask though, because Cobb _did_ pull his hair again almost immediately and Din _moaned_.

“Ah, fuck, Din,” Cobb sounded like he may start to babble.

Din removed his hand from Cobb's shaft and took in as much of Cobb's cock as he could. His now-free hand grabbed Cobb's balls and squeezed gently.

Cobb's hips bucked, but Din had half-expected it and he was able to move _with_ Cobb. 

They found a rhythm, Cobb's thrusting and Din's sucking. Din let his nails sink into Cobb's skin and Cobb pulled Din's hair tighter.

“Fuck, Din,” Cobb wasn't entirely coherent, “Din, fuck, so good, so good for me.”

Din was fairly certain the praise went directly to his own cock.

He moved his hands to push Cobb's hips against the counter at the same time he took the entirety of Cobb's dick in his mouth.

“Din, Din, Din,” Cobb was almost frantic and Din knew what was about to happen.

Din sucked as hard as he could and Cobb tapped Din's shoulders like he was genuinely trying to give Din a chance to back away but Din used one of his hands to still Cobb's frantic one. 

“Din,” Cobb choked out Din's name once more before he came, hips spasming and both hands threaded through Din's hair, tugging as Din breathed through his nose to avoid choking. 

Once he was sure Cobb's orgasm was over, Din sat back so his thighs were touching his heels. He looked up at Cobb as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck,” Cobb's knees looked shaky, “Din, that. Fuck. Wow.”

Din hummed, pleased, and rose to his feet to let Cobb lean on him.

“Thank you,” Cob murmured into Din's hair.

“Always,” Din said it again, and this time he trusted Cobb understood exactly what he meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try not to go ten chapters without a smut break again, I promise.


	14. Interlude: Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the 'fresher, Paz has time to think. Not one of his favorite hobbies, but he has his reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some Paz Feels.

It had been a long, long time since Paz'd had a 'fresher to himself; he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to remove his helmet without feeling a need to rush to get it back on. He'd even spread out his armor, his blacks, his underthings so once he turned the 'fresher on they'd get a proper clean, too.

They'd found ways around it when they'd first re-established the covert, desperate folk who'd been caked in so much blood and sweat and he didn't even want to think too long on whatever else that they _couldn't_ wait to go one at a time into the 'fresher in the long abandoned building they'd found and subsequently taken over.

Someone – and if Paz ever found out who, he'd suggest exhaling their position to the general top of the covert – had fixed the 'fresher while everyone else was taking inventory of their wounds and losses, and everyone who could stand on their own had clamored to get into it at the same time.

It fit three – more if you were willing to get close with your 'fresher mates – and so they picked through the Creed until they found a loophole: if they took off their own helmets and armor in private, blindfolded themselves, and stumbled down the hall until they found the 'fresher door, have the sonic clean them off, wander back to get their armor back on, head down to get their injuries checked.

It had lasted about three batches of freshly cleaned Mandalorian refugees – some whose injuries were only made worse by the sonic – until they decided to post one of the less injured individuals to act as a caller and guide everyone to the 'fresher as they were ready.

Paz had been in one of the first batches; he'd run right into the 'fresher room's door frame and fractured his nose. The sonic had broken it entirely, and he bled all over the place. His 'fresher mates needed a second round and he got a spritz of bacta to the face by someone who was just as blind as he was. He swore for days after he could still taste the bacta and his own blood in his mouth and vowed it would take something as catastrophic as having to relocate the covert before he stripped down entirely to step in a 'fresher that wasn't on his own ship.

He was pretty sure today counted as such.

The Armorer had waived her right to use the school's 'fresher and the other woman, Peli, had assured him that he could take the _first stab at it._ Those had been her exact words and Paz still had half a mind to _actually stab_ the 'fresher on principle.

But what good would that do, really?

He usually had someone to spar when when he felt like this, someone else who was just as _angry_ and in need of blowing off some steam. Even if there wasn't, he could goad someone into it.

Or, on occasion, his temper would flare and he'd go for what could only be called a fight. While some might not consider it solution to his mental restlessness, he did. It still quieted his blood in a way that allowed him to _think_ again.

But not tonight.

Tonight, there was no sparring partner, no one he could goad into a fight, and, if he was forced to be honest with himself, no one he considered a fair fight; the Armorer would gut him like an animal before he could so much as blink, Din was a shell of himself, the townspeople of Mos Pelgo were no match for him.

Which only left Peli.

Paz was in no hurry to find out if the woman knew to how to fight. Even if they did spar, it would only be an embarrassment to one of them. Or perhaps to both of them. 

Either way, he was in no hurry to find out.

Overhead, the lights began to flicker. Paz growled and tapped the light a few times. It steadied and he figured it was wiring about to go faulty. Even at the schoolhouse, this town was waiting to fall apart at the seams.

He could have been done and back in his armor by now, but he just.

He couldn't.

He braced himself on either side of the too-low sink, a sink meant for children, and peered into the long, narrow mirror. Seeing his own face was jarring, staring at it like he was doing now was starting to border on _deeply unsettling._ His eyes were tired; when he saw someone else who looked like this, he knew they'd be an easy target, someone whose wits wits would be lost with a simple misdirection.

He hated people who looked like him.

He ran the point where his thumb and forefinger met across his jawbone, days-old hair growth still sharp at the ends from the last time he'd shaved it. He noticed more scars from the last time he'd taken close inventory of himself.

Back at the covert – which was really an abandoned building in the middle of a swamp that they were only just holding together with salvaged materials and a will to not be separated again – they'd eventually decided to dry some of the swamp plants and and effectively spin their fibers into cords that they affixed between the 'fresher and the private changing rooms. On a sort-of honor code, it was expected you'd blind yourself before you used the cord to locate the 'fresher instead of trying to schedule a time to use it.

But there was nothing like that here. Technically, this one was much bigger, but it was clearly meant for just one person – just one evac tube so it was a two-in-one and the space was meant to make the children who needed it like they had freedom or a space of their own.

Which meant there were households here that did not have 'freshers of their own, and this town was built with the comfort of its children in mind. 

It seemed children, Found or otherwise, were treated as the future even in the most desolate of places.

Would he have had a life like this? A life with school houses and 'freshers big enough for ten desperate Mandalorians to shed the caked-on blood of their fallen siblings in arms and _strangers_ whose kindness wasn't the first move in a bid to disable him? 

No. He would have fallen with his parents, gunned down by droids who gave no care to the screams of a child, never had a chance to know things the children of Mos Pelgo did, for better or for worse. He was a Mandalorian, his name chosen from what he thought was a line of the most noble, most exemplary Mandalorians to have ever lives, something to aspire to, maybe even surpass if he followed the Creed to the letter, if he became the perfect warrior.

And, as with seemingly everything that sent him off-kilter in his adult life, there was one Din Djarin at the events' epicenter. 

He'd heard about the armor and there was no question in his mind who it had belonged to; he knew he had get it back, bring what was left of Din home.

It was everything after that which had gotten muddled past the point of knowing what to do.

Whatever the Armorer was thinking they'd do – she was always thinking – she also thought had to be planned away from ears that had no place in whatever future events were going to befall them.

Whether or not _he_ had a place in them, he did not know.

Din wasn't...Din wasn't dead, but he was hollow. Like whatever he'd been through – and he'd been holding back, at the bar, not nearly touching on what had hollowed a man like him out – had scraped him out of his own head and replaced whatever made Din into such an impossible man into something else entirely.

He wasn't so sure he wasn't feeling similar.

Din's voice when he told Paz they would have to relocate the covert echoed in Paz's head for weeks.

He'd watched Din flee with the infant worth betraying the Guild for. Din hadn't told anyone what he was going to do but really – the covert was directly under the fight, did he think their lookouts _wouldn't_ let everyone know what was going on – there wasn't a choice.

One of their own needed them.

They'd started relocating immediately after the fire fight in the market had ended. They got their most vulnerable – the children – out first along with some scouts. It had been a hurried relocation, and only those who thought they genuinely stood a chance stayed behind to try to salvage what goods they could.

It felt like cowardice, but the Armorer told him survival or the Mandalorians needed to be assured. Still, it didn't feel anything close to _good_ by any means.

Paz had stayed behind. His heavy armor and heavier weapons made him a good fit to deal the most damage in an onslaught.

And there had been an onslaught.

The Armorer had seen Din after she'd sent the survivors to the found planet and hadn't even mentioned it in passing. Why would she, though? By all appearances, Paz hated Din.

And yet, here they were. There were no answers, no plans, nothing.

Well, there was Din.

And sand. There was an unreasonable amount of sand.

He doubted they were just going back to the covert in the morning; even if Peli wasn't going back in the morning, if Fett and his _bodyguard_ could get back without their own speeder, so could Paz and the Armorer. But, again, that likely wasn't what they were going to do.

There were answers to be found here. Not the answers Paz had come to get, but answers nonetheless.

Paz finally looked away from his own reflection. He felt like he might retch, the truths that had come to light and the thought that there was nothing he could do and he was _powerless_ even with his weapons at his side and the sheer weight of the unknown all striking him at the same time.

Looking away didn't help.

Paz turned away so he could retch in the 'fresher, nothing but stomach acid coming up. He coughed and coughed until his lungs burned and his gag reflex offered him a round two – a round he tried very hard not to take his body up on but did anyway. He let himself fall to his knees and caught himself on the heels of his palms as he retched again, still just stomach acid, but really, what else would it be?

A part of his mind he couldn't quite tap into wondered if the Armorer and Peli could hear him.

He took deep, heaving breaths but his lungs felt dry, like he wasn't getting any air in. The deeper breaths he took, the less air he felt like he was getting in. 

He wasn't sure how long he was like that, lungs burning without air and mind as empty as his stomach, but when he could finally breathe again his knees and palms _ached_ and his face burned from the saltwater tracks that dared to run down his cheeks.

He took a few slow, deep, measured breaths.

Pulled himself back to his feet.

Turned on the 'fresher and let it clean him from whatever sins he'd committed to land himself here.

He promised himself that, once he stepped back into the schoolhouse proper, he'd carry on like nothing happened.

If nothing else, he knew how to keep a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I know I said plot would resume in chapter 14 but I got this idea and had to do something with it.
> 
> Can I make it up to you with an extra exciting chapter 15?


	15. Morning (Un)Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning doesn't go as intended. The Armorer has plans of her own, but the Armorer's plans have one (1) Peli to contend with.
> 
> Cobb just wants to know how the hell everyone keeps getting into his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot resumes!

When Cobb awoke, the suns' light was filter in through his curtains. He was on his back; Din was sleeping on his side with his head nestled against Cobb's chest. Cobb's arm was curled around Din as if holding him in place.

It was unusual for Cobb to wake up without some external force to rouse him – and he normally complained when he did – but he'd make an exception. The moment was a peaceful one and Din was still asleep. Cobb held it in his mind, imprinted it on his very consciousness. 

He'd had a moment of weakness last night, one where all his fears that without his ill-bought armor he was no one roared to life and Din had not judged him for it, not thought ant less of him for it. Quite the opposite, really.

Din reminded him what faith felt like. 

Din stirred, still asleep, and Cobb let himself run his fingers through Din's hair.

A knock at the door, too loud to have been a first knock, suggested Cobb may not have woken up on his own.

“Shit,” Cobb tried to slip out of bed without waking Din and failed so he said, “Someone's at the door.”

“But why?” Din mumbled, still mostly asleep. It was a solid question, but not one Cobb had an answer for.

Cobb extracted himself and scrambled to find a pair of pants he could tug on before whoever was at the door decided to let themselves in.

He had locked the door last night, right?

Another knock, even louder this time. Cobb shouted down for whoever it was to hold on but he was too late – the sound of the door crashing open had Din on his feet and both of them running.

Cobb was pretty sure some of the combinations of swear words he unleashed while he was descending his stairs were new to the universe altogether.

When he saw who was at the door, he skittered to a stop fast enough that Din crashed into him.

“Peli?” Din recovered before Cobb did, “Peli, what, _why?_ ”

“It's almost afternoon!” Peli threw her arms in the air, “And your speeder was gone! I had to know you were alright!”

“My speeder's gone?” Din blinked a few times.

“That explains how those two got back to wherever they needed to be so badly they traveled overnight,” Cobb remarked.

“My speeder's gone,” Din repeated.

“Your speeder's gone,” Peli told him again, “and with those two who dragged us all the way out here currently missing as well, I had to know -”

“Missing?” Din cut Peli off, “What do you mean, missing?”

“I mean,” Peli sounded exasperated, “ that the two I spent the night in the schoolhouse were gone when I woke up. Didn't hear them leave or nothing.”

“Why does that sound bad?” Cobb asked, “Din's armor, where is it?”

“Still on my speeder, covered, but on my speeder,” Peli told him, “That was the first thing I checked – don't worry, I made sure no one was around first – and it's still there.”

“If they didn't take my armor or your speeder,” Din was still pressed against Cobb's back as if he'd just crashed there, “Huh.”

“So uh,” Cobb wasn't sure about next steps, “Breakfast?”

“Food sounds great,” Peli's face lit up and Cobb realized she may not have eaten at all the day before.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Cobb told her, “It's not much, but it's mine.” 

“Thanks,” Peli sat on the floor of Cobb's living room and one of her droids tottered in behind her, “Oi! She turned to the droid, “Keep the place as nice as you found it!”

Din chuckled and Cobb felt himself smile.

“Din,” Cobb said quietly, “tell me you have pants on.”

“I have pants on,” Din answered, just as quietly, “I don't think that's our biggest concern, though.”

Cobb laughed, he couldn't help it – it wasn't that Din's observation in and of itself was funny – and Din laughed too.

“You two alright over there?” Peli called over her shoulder.

“Debatable,” Din answered, his laughter still in his voice. 

“Come on,” Cobb turned around and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Din's temple, “Breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” Din agreed.

–

The Armor hadn't had to put Paz through his beginner drill paces since, well, Paz was still a beginner. He hadn't still be a child, but they were still fresh in his mind, then.

They'd left just as the planet's twin suns had started to rise, and they'd been going through the paces ever since.

Paz was out of practice; he'd long forgotten how to start something like he was starting it for the first time and it was showing. What should have been a simple tuck-and-roll to avoid her hammer throw had turned into Paz skidding across the sand shoulder-first.

“Again,” she told him as she retrieved her hammer.

Paz growled and as he tried himself onto his feet. He staggered and went down again and the Armorer frowned. She knew that Paz would never see the expression; he'd feel it, though.

She wasn't looking for perfect execution, not really: she was looking for honesty. The night before, Paz thought neither she or Peli knew he'd shattered when he was supposed to be removing the planet's sand from his armor and his blacks. She wasn't angry with him, just disappointed.

They'd come to her shortly after taking up the creed, barely a year apart in the aftermath of the Great purge, Din and Paz. Despite their differences, had once been the covert's most promising Foundlings.

It wasn't their raw potential alone; raw potential was dangerous if it wasn't harnessed. They'd both been so eager, so dedicated to the covert and their continued training that they both clawed (and shit, and shot) their way to being able to claim their own purchase within in the covert despite how _young_ they were.

Din had become their beroya, their most prized hunter. He was a survivor first and foremost; he survived _because_ he'd tied his sense of self to the covert. Even now, stripped of everything that made him _the covert's_ Din Djarin, his tenacious desire to _**survive**_ was still there, still driving him to find an anchor and attach himself to it while he scrambled to regain his grip on his life.

But Paz?

Paz had built himself for a war that never reached him. His ability to see where and how he belonged had never actualized. For so long it had been Paz's only weakness, and now he was spinning out of control because of it. 

“Again,” she repeated.

Paz roared this time as he forced himself to his feet, but was down again just as quickly.

She clicked her tongue – knowing full well Paz couldn't hear it – and walked over to hoist him up.

–

“If Din doesn't keep you,” Peli said around a mouthful of food, “I will for the food alone.”

Din nearly choked on the bite of breakfast he's been in the middle of swallowing. Peli howled with laughter and Cobb pinched the bridge of his nose but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped.

“Thanks, Peli,” Cobb shook his head, “Din, please don't choke to death, but if you have to please don't do it in my living room.”

“I can think of a few better places,” Din said as he took a deep breath to try to stop the coughing.

It was Cobb's turn to nearly choke on his breakfast. Peli's laughter redoubled; anyone nearby could hear her even through the walls.

The sound of the door being opened so forcefully it hit the interior wall stopped the moment in its tracks.

All three of them were on their feet and facing the sound. When they saw it was just the Armorer and Paz, Din and Peli relaxed.

“How do you keep getting into my-?” Cobb started asking but the Armor closed the door and Paz was on his hands and knees in the same moment, “What happened?” Paz asked.

“Dehydration,” Din was already heading for the kitchen, for Cobb's sole water spout, “Damn you Paz.”

“Shit,” Peli hissed, “Tourists, I swear. Come to a desert planet and what do you expect? Not to need more water than usual?” Despite her words, she was in the kitchen and out with a glass of water before Din.

“Wait,” Din called after Peli, “Peli, don't -”

“He follows your Creed, I know,” Peli waved him off, “I'll leave it on the floor, rest of us will go upstairs and let him...do whatever he needs to do. What is it, no living thing, right? That's the Creed's specification?”

The Armorer nodded.

Cobb wondered briefly if he still owned the place or if Peli and the Armorer were about to stage a coup.

Peli set the water down close enough to Paz that Paz could reach it but he wouldn't knock over if he went to one side or the other without warning.

Peli started making large, sweeping motions with her arms. When the Armorer hesitated – and it was so brief even Din missed it – Peli snapped and pointed at her droid, who was standing the in middle of the living room, and said, “Oi, you, make sure he doesn't drink it in one go!”

Peli noticed Din and the Armorer try to sneak glances back at Paz as she herded everyone up the stairs.

“Fresher, my room, storage,” Cobb pointed to three doors in turn. The door to his room was already open, so they naturally headed in there.

Peli perched on the windowsill, curtains still drawn, so she could watch the room. Din sat on the corner or the bed, sort of between Peli and the door. Cobb sat down next to Din, closer to the door – and the Armorer – than to Peli. The Armor stood in the doorway with her back to the hallway, arms crossed.

“He didn't have anything to drink at all yesterday, did he?” Peli asked.

The Armorer closed the door and leaned back until her shoulders touched the door. “He didn't,” she said, “Nor this morning, I think.”

“What about the day before?” Peli asked, “Before you two arrived, not after, I know the answer for after.”

“I don't know,” the Armorer was drumming her fingers against he elbows, “I don't know.”

When she said it the second time, Peli could tell the Armorer was blaming herself for Paz's...Peli hoped it was a collapse and not much more.

“Damn you Paz,” Din's curse had no heat behind it.

“Does he do this?” Cobb asked.

“Sometimes,” Din said at the same time the Armorer said, “More than he should.”

“Once is more than he should,” Din argued and then flinched. 

The Armorer simply shrugged.

“He pushes himself too hard, doesn't he?” Peli asked, “Just goes and goes and goes until he can rest somewhere alone?”

“Good guess,” the Armorer told her, “Correct guess as well.”

“Not too different from Din like that,” Peli noted, “Is it a Mandalorian trait or are these two the same type of self-destructive and just so happen to wear the same armor?”

“It's not the same armor,” Din muttered.

Cobb put his hand next to Din's thigh, still on the bed. Peli could tell Cobb was quietly asking if Din needed or wanted physical reassurance.

Din put his hand over Cobb's, a yes to Cobb's silent question.

“A little of both, I think,” the Armorer uncrossed her arms and started fidgeting with the hammer looped onto her hip, “The Creed demands much of all of us, but these two know what it means to sacrifice for the community.”

“Maybe I used to,” Din's eyes were unfocused, pointed at a wall, away from everyone, “I can't any more, though.”

“Din,” Peli started saying, but Din cut her off.

“When you showed up,” he looked from Peli to the Armorer to the general direction of the stairs and then back to the Armorer, “I thought you were going to kill me, honestly. Everything I know, everything I've done, and now I'm just. I'm just what? Nothing. I'm. I'm nothing anymore.”

Peli decided she was willing to snap the Armorer's neck if she agreed with Din's self-assessment, armor be damned.

“I think,” the Armorer spoke slowly, as if each word was an uncertain thing, “that this is the way things were always meant to be.”

“You're Force-sensitive, too!” Peli's eyes went wide.

From downstairs, a crash and a series of swears cut off the entire conversation.

“Din, help him,” the Armorer told Din, “Blindfold yourself and _help him._ ”

Din did as his Armorer told him, using a scarf off Cobb's floor as a blindfold.

Once Din was out of the room and the door was closed again, Peli tried to count to seven – she only made it to five – before she said, “Your Creed's broken him!”

“The Creed kept him alive,” the Armorer snapped.

“Maybe it did once but there's a reason everything changes,” Peli crossed her arms but otherwise stayed perched on the windowsill, “I know you see it in him. Hell, I see it in him and I've only met him three times before this.”

“Three?” Cobb asked, “I've only met him once before?”

“Really?” the Armorer finally stopped fidgeting with her hammer.

“Really,” Cobb huffed.

“Third time I met him,” Peli said, “When he came back with the armor and the dragon meat, he'd said he was looking for other Mandalorians to set him on his path. I got someone who said her husband knew where they were.”

“And?” the Armorer asked.

“And he took her and her eggs to her husband,” Peli hoped she'd locked eyes with the Armorer, “Seems to me he met some there, the one who wanted the darksaber Din has.”

“Set him on a path alright,” Cobb said with a heavy sigh as he leaned back until his upper body was on his bed.

“I take it Din has told you more than he's told us,” the Armorer addressed Cobb.

Cobb, for his part, only shrugged.

An uneasy silence settled over the three of them as more crashing happened downstairs.

“Only once before?” the Armorer asked again.

“Yeah,” Cobb sounded like he was losing patience, “Only once.”

“And yet, it was you he came back to,” the Armorer said with a hum underpinning the sentiment.

Even with the whole universe out there, Peli realized, and when Din had lost his way he came to Tatooine's middle of nowhere to find himself again because this particular middle of nowhere contained Cobb Vanth.

“The woman,” the Armorer addressed Peli this time, “The one whose husband showed him to other Mandalorians. What was special about her?”

“Oh,” Peli wasn't sure how it was relevant, but if it took the pressure off Cobb she'd go on about it, “She needed her eggs fertilized and fast otherwise it was going to be the end of her bloodline.”

“She what?” Cobb sat up.

“They're Frogs,” Peli had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing, “Her eggs were suspended in liquid in a closed container.”

“So Din just,” Cobb flopped back down, “took her to her husband?”

“Traveling sub-light,” Peli nodded.

“Fascinating,” the Armorer resumed fiddling with her hammer, “I wonder: what else has he done while he was trying to find the child's people.”

“Grogu,” Cobb corrected her, “the kid's name is Grogu.”

“Who else has Din saved,” the Armorer went still, “How many people are alive because Din was where those people needed him to be?”

“We could find out,” Peli suggested as she pushed herself off the windowsill, “See the people he met and places he went, see how he shaped them just by brushing by them.”

“It would be a good measure of who he would be as a leader,” the Armorer sat down on the floor with her back still on the door, “Cobb?”

“Really, just once before,” Cobb said through gritted teeth.

“Would you go?” the Armorer asked, “If we got Din to agree to this, would you go?”

“I,” Cobb wanted to say yes but the word was caught in his throat as Din's _If I'd come back to get the man who's willing to lay down his life to protect what's his to find he'd already done just that?_ from the night before echoed through his very core.

Cob sat up, slowly, as if there was a weight on his chest.

Downstairs, some more banging and shouts happened.

“For him,” Cobb said, “Just for him, yes.”

Peli beamed at Cobb, her relief tangible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Field trip field trip!!
> 
> Please know I keep nearly typing 'cohort' instead of 'covert' and I think that energy's carrying over.


	16. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins, slowly. As everyone leaves Mos Pelgo, Cobb and Peli face the fact they're leaving everything behind with no idea if they can guarantee they'll return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I'm a sucker for the mundane things that make a journey with a company of strangers manage to work out.

They needed a ship.

Din had been quick to agree to the tour of the ripples caused by his journeys with Grogu. 

Almost too quick.

Cobb supposed it was because the Armorer had asked him while he was still blindfolded and the entire conversation was shouted up and down the stairs – Cobb wasn't sure how he felt about that – but Din had agreed nonetheless.

Paz was laying on Cobb's floor, face down, helmet on and breaths labored. It was more than dehydration, Cobb thought, but the Mandalorian was too proud to ask if anyone had anything besides water that might help his recovery along.

Cobb was sure they did; he just needed to know what else was wrong with Paz. Dehydration, that was common. Even people who'd been born here sometimes just went down because they lost track of how much water they'd had or underestimated how far away their destination was.

Something else was compounding Paz's state right now, and Cobb had a suspicion it wasn't something that some bacta spray would help, even if Paz would go near some bacta spray on his own volition.

The Armorer had told Cobb and Peli about relocating the covert and getting the building habitable, including Paz breaking his nose on the door frame.

Cobb hadn't been sure if he should feel bad for Paz or laugh, so he'd done neither.

When they went back downstairs, his living room was, somehow, not ruined. The furniture had shifted considerable and there was water on the floor, plus some evidence that Paz had tried to drink the spilled water, but no damage.

“What happened to your ship?” Peli asked, “It was a bucket of rust but it still flew.”

“Gone,” Din told her, “Blown up in a field, actually.”

“Blown -” Paz started to say, “How?”

“Grogu was in this...enhancement circle, communicating with his own people,” Din sighed, “I tried to run, but he was...protected by this energy field that kept throwing me backwards. When it was over...I couldn't...I couldn't get him,” Din's breath hitched and he kept going, “If' I'd gotten to him sooner, gotten back to the ship, we'd've...”

Din trailed off and Paz went, “So you would have been there.”

“Would have been dead, yeah,” Din said it like it wasn't a big deal, “That's where I wound up teaming with Boba and Fennec.”

“Didn't you have a bounty on Fennec?” Peli asked.

“I did,” Din decided to lie on the floor next to Paz, “she _was_ dead in the desert.”

“Huh,” Cobb said, “So, your ship's gone-gone and you've been hitching rides from Fett, who apparently now rules this planet _and_ his his own ship.”

“So I'm pretty sure traveling with them isn't going to be viable for a number of reasons,” Din mumbled.

“You're mocking me,” Paz slurred the words of his accusation almost to the point of nonrecognition.

“No,” Din told him.

“Fine,” Paz huffed.

It was interesting, the two of them on Cobb's floor like that. Paz had left his armor off but put his helmet back on. He was smaller that Cobb had expected; his armor seemed to double as a chassis to make sure the weight of his weapons was evenly distributed.

Cobb remembered recovering from near-dying of thirst. He couldn't sit up on his own for what felt like days. Hell, he couldn't even keep his head up. That Paz was managing to have coherent thoughts – even if he couldn't speak them – was astounding.

“What's wrong with your ship?” Peli asked the Armorer, “You couldn't have just walked from whatever planet you came from.”

“Too small,” the Armorer shook her head, “It barely has room for two, nonetheless five plus whoever else we pick up along the way.”

“Whoever else?” Din asked.

“You think _none _of those you have effected will want to journey with us?” the Armorer asked.__

__Din muttered something in a language Cobb did not understand but still managed to sound like he was conceding to her point._ _

__“We will also have to take my ship back to the covert,” the Armorer said, “I need to be in once ship and Paz needs to be in the other if you don't want to get into a firefight the moment we land.”_ _

__“Makes sense,” Cobb frowned, “Paz in in no condition to fly, though, so he's going to have to at least take a pilot.”_ _

__“Who else can fly?” the Armorer asked, “Din, I know you can, but I want you with me for the flight.”_ _

__“I can,” Peli said._ _

__“Cobb,” the Armorer turned to him as she addressed him, “Do you mind making sure they don't kill each other?”_ _

__Cob blinked a few times and looked between Peli and Paz. He wasn't sure which one he was more worried for should a fight to the death happen._ _

__“Cobb,” the Armorer addressed him again, “Gather whatever you want to take with you and make any arrangements you need for your town while you're away.”_ _

__His town. He was going to miss his town._ _

__Cobb nodded and got to work._ _

__–_ _

__Peli had watched Cobb make his arrangements from a slight distance while she examined her speeder to make sure it was in the same condition she'd left it. It wasn't a sad thing, but there was a fear from those he told he was leaving that Peli could feel even if she couldn't hear what was going on._ _

__This town needed its Marshal, and there wasn't anyone who quite fit the bill. Still, Cobb reminded them to _keep to the ceasefire_ and _don't let anyone try to cheat you out of anything you mine_ and, perhaps more tellingly, _if anyone tries to take this town from us, you stop at nothing to prevent that._

There were many reasons Peli hadn't left her city's walls for years, and that was one of them.

Paz had insisted he could get into his armor in his own and Peli had left the house before everyone found out if he was right or full of too much pride and still not enough water.

They'd stopped for the night again, sure, and the middle of nowhere with four people who might be a terrible situation to be in, but they'd brought _blankets_ this time and more than enough _water_ and _actual food._ Peli had slept in the speeder, curled up in the two front seats. Cobb and Din had curled up in the back of the speeder.

She couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The Armorer had stayed up all night, Peli was sure of it. A watcher, protecting _her people_ even if it was a little mismatched and not _her people_ in the way she was used to having people to watch over.

It was a silent leadership that was, in Peli's experience, a rare thing to find, and an ever rared thing to find in someone who was in such an exalted position.

Peli thought she might actually be able to get used to this little group.

–

They got back to find Peli's garage ransacked.

Peli did not scream or cry or start demanding answers; she'd simply stood there, eyes wide and the rest of her body slack as she took in the damage.

“The armor,” Peli said, “They were looking for the armor.”

For a few moments, everyone stood still, awkward and in shock. 

The Armorer stepped forward and put a hand on Peli's shoulder. Peli reached up and put her hand over the Armorer's.

“Well,” Peli said, “at least I don't have to worry about finding someone to mind the shop.”

Things had fallen as they were supposed to: Peli and the armor safe, well away from the selfish violence that tried to come for them.

“What do you need?” the Armorer asked.

“My droids,” Peli said, “I need to see if any of my droids can be salvaged.”

The Armorer started to walk towards the wreckage but Peli stopped her and said, “I need to do this on my own.”

And so, everyone fanned out to form a protective circle, backs to Peli and hands resting on their weapons should anyone try to strike when she was at her weakest.

When Peli was done, her eyes were red but her cheeks were dry. There had been three droids she'd pulled from the wreckage. The other two she'd had with her chattered happily as they reunited with their friends.

“Alright,” Peli took a deep breath, “We have things to do.”

Din lead the way into the space port with Paz and Cobb nearly on Din's heels. Peli went after them, a little slower than usual with her droids sticking so close to her they might trip her.

The Armorer followed last, making sure everyone made it.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I did Peli dirty in this one. I'll make it up to her, I promise.
> 
> You make notice there's a chapter count now. I am no longer winging it with every new chapter; this thing has an outline and an ending.
> 
> Buckle up; this is going to be one hell of a ride.


	17. Takeoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once they've secured a ship, Peli flies the new one with Paz and Cobb in tow. The Armorer talks to Din getting back in his armor for their visit to the covert while Paz winds up nearly harassing Cobb about his relationship with Din because Peli won't let him in the cockpit and he's bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are in SPPPAAAAAAACE!!!

Getting a ship big enough for five plus theoretical more wasn't the hard part. A place like Mos Eisley always had ships people wanted to get rid of – trying to make a quick handful of credits to pay off a debt, running from something, whatever the reason was – and one that had what passed for multiple sleeping quarters was secured before the suns set.

“Alright,” Peli said to the others once they were had finished sweeping the new ship to make sure there were no trackers or improvised explosive rigs or any assorted potential problems, “Looks like this one's clear. Needs a good scrubbing, but she'll be safe.”

“Good,” the Armorer said, “Din, with me. Peli, I've punched in the coordinates.”

“I'll make sure we get there in one peace,” Peli promised, “You keep Din in one piece.”

“If he arrives in more than one, it won't by my doing,” the Armorer sounded like she was fighting a chuckle as she said it.

Peli watched Din get in the Armorer's ship and a worry about leaving Din alone with any other Mandalorians tugged at her thoughts.

“Come on,” Peli told Cobb and Paz, “We've got a ship to follow.”

Paz just about ran into the ship.

“Think he's homesick?” Cobb asked Peli quietly.

“I think he sure is something,” Peli said, equally quiet, “Anxious with all the unknown variables more than anything, I think.”

“Hmn,” Cobb hummed, “You're good at reading people.”

“It's kept me alive this long,” Peli shrugged.

–

Din sat in the co-pilot's seat – he'd almost sat in the pilot's seat out of habit – as the Armorer turned her ship on and got ready for takeoff.

“You can touch the controls,” she told him without looking up from what she was doing.

Din knew what he was supposed to do; even in a ship he'd never been in before, engaging the right things in the right order was easy. 

Sometimes he wondered if he'd been born to fly and the rest of his life was incidental.

They took off with a hum and then hit light speed with a roar.

Din was grinning like a child as the universe blurred in the corners of his vision.

“Are you like this every time?” the Armorer asked.

“If I'm not running for my life,” Din felt like he was being judged but couldn't gather the energy to care.

They sat in silence for a while, stars and planets indistinguishable from each other, ship's engine humming as it should.

Din kept looking to his right, expecting Grogu to be there.

His heart hurt every time all he saw was console parts.

–

“She locked us out of the cockpit,” Paz told Cobb.

“She locked _you_ out of the cockpit,” Cobb corrected him, “I haven't even tried to get in there.”

Paz made a frustrated noise and started pacing the length of hallway nearest to the little enclave Cobb had made himself comfortable in.

Cobb tried to ignore the footsteps, but they were heavy and _loud_. There was the entire ship to pace and Paz _had_ to pace right next to him.

It occurred to Cobb that Paz may not have spent a lot of time alone. From what Cobb could piece together, everyone in Din's covert had, for the most part, stayed underground and stayed together. There wouldn't have _been_ an ability to be alone with a community like that.

“Paz,” Cobb called out the next time the footfalls got close.

“What?” Paz snapped.

“Well nevermind if that's how you're going to be,” Cobb held up his arms in a pseudo-surrender to Paz's temper.

Paz growled again but walked over to stand closer to where Cobb was sitting.

“How do you do it?” Paz asked.

“Do what?” Cobb felt his shoulders lean back without his permission.

“Din,” Paz snarled, “How'd you get him...stripped down like that?”

Cobb hoped Paz was referring to the fact Din wasn't wearing his armor anymore.

“He showed up like that,” Cobb forced himself to be calm in his answers no matter how much he wanted to scream at Paz that Din was _hurting_ and had given up on himself and Cobb was desperately trying to hold Din - to hold this man who had turned his life inside out and shown him impossible things despite the fact they'd met only once before – together so he didn't shake apart from having to give up _his **child.**_

“He really left it in Mos Eisley,” Paz stomped his foot and pivoted so his back was to Cobb, “He really _left it behind._ ”

“Seems so,” Cobb said with a heavy sigh, “Look, I don't know the interstices, but I know it's...a big deal, that he'd do that.”

“It's profane,” Paz still had his back to Cobb, but his head was tilted downward, “It's downright profane.”

Cobb sighed, a loud thing that seemed to only serve to alert him to how tense he was.

“He's supposed to be King,” Paz suddenly sounded genuinely wounded, “He's supposed to be _**King**_ and he's a profaner of the Creed.”

Cobb forced himself to go completely still and wait for Paz to say something else.

“Everything I built my faith on is a lie,” Paz did, indeed, keep talking, “But I can't. I won't let go of it. There has to be more, there has to be a way to restore...”

Cobb waited again. When it became clear Paz wasn't going to resume talking, Cobb said, “This isn't Din's fault.”

“You know nothing about Din,” Paz said with a dry laugh, “It may not be his fault, but he's cast us aside in whatever he's doing.”

“He thought you were dead!” Cobb's voice got louder as he stood up, “He's lost everything too! Don't you _dare_ try to make him into an antagonist in this!”

“He's said nothing to me!” Paz whirled around to face Cobb again, “Nothing! He's talked with you, with Peli, he's along with the Armorer, but I've been forgotten!”

Cob took half a step back as he realized this wasn't about Din shedding his armor at all.

This was about Paz being jealous without being willing to admit that to himself so it came out as anger and rigid ideas of who Din was supposed to be as a person.

Paz grunted and resumed pacing. 

Cobb sighed with relief and sat back down.

–

“Seriously?” Din asked.

“Seriously,” the Armorer nodded.

“ _You_ want _me_ to go get in my armor?” Din wasn't sure he believed what he was hearing.

“Yes,” the Armorer sighed.

“But I took it off,” Din said like she wasn't aware that Din was sitting next to her while wearing borrowed clothes.

“And I want you to go put it back on,” her tone left no room for argument.

“Okay but,” Paz was already standing up, “Why?”

“There are going to be a number of familiar suits,” the Armorer told him, “and if they're going to find out you're their _King,_ for your own safety, I want you to be wearing your armor.”

Din couldn't really argue with that.

–

Paz decided the pseudo-quarters directly above the ship's engine was his. They were the second smallest – big enough for a bed, a tall storage unit about two-thirds as wide as he was, and enough floor space for someone not wearing heavy armor to turn around – but they were _warm_. If he was going to be sleeping here, he wanted the warmth.

A selfish choice, but he didn't think he was going to have much room for himself over the coming...how long would they be doing this? Days? Weeks? Months?

The rest of his life?

He'd be invisible, he knew, an accessory who was on this trip because _he_ had been the one who'd insisted they go get Din's armor.

He wanted to be relieved Din was alive. He really did. But the past few days had been _so much_. He'd shaken apart and had no idea how to pull himself together.

And now they were going home – going back to the new covert – with an armorless King and two strangers.

And then they'd leave again.

He'd already decided he was going to let the Armorer do the talking while they were at the covert. He'd memorize what she said so in the off chance someone asked him about what was going on he wouldn't contradict her.

He felt the ship drop into sub-light speeds.

They were almost there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn Paz. Pull yourself together, man.


	18. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din has returned to his covert. New place, fewer Mandalorians, but his covert nonetheless. The Armorer has a job for Peli.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaahhhhhh

His armor had never felt claustrophobic before. Quite the opposite: it once felt like a second skin and he'd felt _wrong_ without it.

He was terrified of seeing everyone again. The weight of his covert's losses was difficult to bear on his best days; knowing he was about to see the survivors made the weight fell like it might crush him, Beskar armor for protection or no.

Paz kept _looking_ at Din, which didn't help Din's nerves. The Armorer had Cobb and Peli next to her to indicate _yes, these strangers are supposed to be here._

Din realized how much he'd folded Cobb's touch into his baseline expectations already and it terrified him that he'd become so attached so quickly.

There was no one outside; even on this empty planet, the old rules of only having one out at a time still stuck.

Once they were inside, there were a few Mandalorians in the hallway. They stopped to stare for a few seconds before one of them saw Din and raised a cry.

“Our beroya has returned!!” one of them cried, “He's returned to us!!!”

Din wonder for a moment if the Force would let him melt into the floor until they were ready to leave again.

“Beroya?” Peli asked.

“Our bounty hunter,” the Armorer explained.

“So like, the covert's main source of income?” Cobb asked.

“Yes,” the Armorer nodded, “We have a new one, now; we needed one. She's young, but she's been...good at what she does.”

Din felt a stab of guilt for leaving his covert to their own devices while he fled for his life – and Grogu's life – shoot from his heart to his stomach.

It didn't take long until they started to gather; everyone wanted to see Din for themselves.

“Meeting hall!” the Armorer called out.

And just like that, the rush changed directions.

“Paz, show Din where the meeting hall is,” she told Paz, “Peli, Cobb, with me.”

Paz started walking, expecting Din to follow. Din looked over his shoulder, at Cobb, once before they rounded a corner.

–

Cobb and Peli followed the Armorer into the building's basement. It was dark and the lights were on the fritz. Cobb was pretty sure the floor was wet. He tried not to look down in case it wasn't just water.

There was a lot of what could only be described as _a mess of technology_

“Huh,” Peli said as she looked around.

“What do you make of it?” she asked.

“This was a base,” Peli said, “I can't tell whose, but this was a base. Listening hub mostly, but even listening hubs would have had a weapons store. Have you found one yet?”

“No,” the Armorer shook her head, “Listening hub? Are you sure?”

“Not much else it could be,” Peli took a small light out of her pocket and shined it on one of the larger consoles, “Corroded, water damage, some cut wires but they were just snapped. No sections removed. If you have someone who knows what they're doing, they'll fix up decent.”

“Why would the wires be cut?” Cobb asked.

“Lots of reasons,” Peli crouched down to look under the console, “Might have been under attack and they wanted to keep whoever was coming from using it. Maybe it was decommissioned and they wanted to keep anyone coming behind them from having an easy time getting it running again.”

“I like the second option better,” Cobb noted.

“Does anyone here do electronics?” Peli asked.

“I'm sure someone has to,” the Armorer was walking around the basement, “Do you think it's repairable?”

“If it's survived the water damage and corrosion,” Peli nodded, “You'll want to fix the leaks and get the water out before you try to repair anything, though.”

“And clean the slime out,” there was a grimace in the Armorer's voice, “The entire building had leaks and slime and mud throughout when we got here.”

“I think it hasn't actually been abandoned that long,” Peli noted as she scraped at the floor with the toe of her boot, “There isn't any standing water, which means either the leaks are very small or it drains out somewhere.”

“You study architecture in addition to mechanics?” Cobb asked.

“No,” Peli shook her head, “I listen.”

The Armorer looked at her, head tilted just barely sideways. Peli couldn't tell if she was impressed or skeptical.

“Everyone says more than they realize when they're at a garage,” Peli explained, “I could probably fake my way into claiming to be just about anything career-wise for the first ten minutes of a conversation,” she laughed, a shallow thing, “Anything more that and I'll run out of things to talk about.”

“I'll see who can fix it,” the Armorer decided, “See if we can't get it scanning again, know well in advance if anyone's coming in.”

The Armorer jerked her head just slightly back towards the stairs; it was time to go above ground.

–

Din had told his story probably five times since he'd walked into the meeting room; it was a heavily edited version, but it was still fascinating to everyone who'd walked in.

They'd all come and gone in what felt like shifts; the meeting room was small but entirely open. There were no doors or windows, just a wide open gap where a wall would normally be, creating a sort-of cave.

He'd left out quite a few parts: the hunter-fishermen who thought they could strip him of his armor, the first Jedi, the ice spiders – he hadn't told anyone about the ice spiders – and the Nite Owls. 

And the darksaber. He wasn't ready to announce that he held the darksaber.

Paz stood next to him the entire time, quiet and watching.

Eventually, everyone went back to whatever they'd been doing before the news of Din's return reached them.

“Well,” Paz finally said, “I think we can head back to the others.”

Din nodded and waited for Paz to lead the way.

A short Mandalorian stepped into the meeting room right as Din was about to start heading back.

“Ah, yes,” Paz stood up straight, “She is our beroya now.”

Din recognized her – she was young, right around twenty if he remembered correctly – and he stared for a moment longer than was respectful.

“You do the covert a great service,” Din told her, “You have my thanks.”

“It is an honor,” she told him. She even _sounded_ young and Din wondered how long she'd been training to become a beroya.

They stood there, staring at each other, the old and the new, and Din could _feel_ the changes the covert was undergoing in his bones.

–

A sense of finality at the very beginning of the thing they were staring down that nobody could put words to was trying to create an uneasy tension trying to build between everyone. When they finally regrouped at the ship, even Peli was fidgeting.

“They know we have work to do,” the Armorer said as she recalled the ship's ramp, “but no more.”

It was probably better that way, regardless of how anyone felt about keeping the covert in the dark like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody's fully engaged with the world around them at this point.
> 
> Exception: Peli.
> 
> They _do_ work to do, but most of it's internal.


	19. Interlude: Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the air again, everyone takes some time alone to reflect on what the hell they've gotten themselves into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's taking a mental inventory! They really need it at this juncture.

Once they were in the air and the ship was doing its thing, Peli left the cockpit to stretch her legs. She wasn't used to so much sitting and standing still, and her body ached to move.

Her little droids followed her around the ship, chattering at her as she walked. They were her survivors, her companions, her last reminders of the life she used to have.

She'd done everything right, before. She kept her head down, she didn't put her nose in customers' business, she survived without pledging her allegiance to one side or the other.

And then a tiny green child had wandered off a ship she was supposed to be repairing, and nothing had been the same since.

She had never been on another planet before. Hell, she couldn't remember the last time she'd gone outside the city walls. 

Not that she was complaining, not really. The truth of it was she thought the garage was her station in life. She was content because she didn't look beyond what she had.

When she lost the garage, she felt like she could see the infinite in the wreckage.

She'd gone with the Armor, Paz, Boba, and Fennec because she'd seen the kind of man Din was and knew he needed a friend. She was his friend, she hoped, so she took as much control of the situation as she could.

She hadn't felt the authority she held, but she figured she could fake it until she _did_ feel it.

And it had worked.

Her traveling companions were quite an odd group. In theory, three of the four of them were supposed to be cut from the same cloth – or perhaps forged from the same metal – but there was very little that seemed to actually keep them together.

Cobb...Cobb was different. Peli wasn't sure she's call him a _good_ man, but he was an honest man who'd protect his own and he'd taken Din in as one of his own.

Peli wasn't sure how often she should check the cockpit to see if everything was still going right. Truthfully, she knew how to fly _in theory_ , but she'd never actually flown anything more than moving it from the repair spot to the pickup spot when she had more than one customer.

She seemed to be doing everything right, though. At the very least, they hadn't crashed or had any sort of close call or alarm that would indicate something was wrong.

Pacing the ship wasn't the same as working, though, and it wasn't doing much to use her excess energy.

She'd find stuff to do, though, she knew this. She'd just have to get to know the ship and find the parts she could make better.

–

Din had holed up in a crawl space. He hadn't meant to; he'd been checking to see if there was anything hidden in what was so obviously the ship's smuggling compartments.

They'd bought a ship previously used by a large group of smugglers and nobody had noticed while they were checking it for trackers and explosives. It alarmed him, both that _nobody_ noticed. 

Anything could have been in these compartments.

He wasn't stuck, he just...couldn't move any farther forward. Peli might have been able to, but he wasn't Peli. 

He'd have to back out eventually, but this seemed as good a place as any to think about what he was doing.

He was supposed to be the ruler of Mandalore now. Well, he had the right to claim the throne because the darksaber that was currently digging into his hip. He hadn't wanted this. He thought he could just _hand it off_ to the person who actually wanted it and that would be that. Moff Gideon would be tried for his crimes, Bo-Katan could reclaim a dead planet, and he could...

...he wasn't sure what his plans were after he managed to get Grogu to his people. Finding other Mandalorians had, overall, been a disaster since his Armorer told him to leave her to her own devices and stay with the Foundling in not so many words.

He still couldn't put why he'd gone to Cobb into words; he was probably in shock and seeking the familiar, but the shock had passed and he was still very much using Cobb as his anchor when he felt the world was spinning out of his control again.

Seeing the new covert, seeing so many he recognized and which ones were missing, it carved a hole in him in ways he thought he'd prepared himself for. He'd wanted to tell them everything, to assure them that the sacrifices made were indeed made for something much, much bigger than any of them.

But he hadn't.

He still didn't fell like it was right, didn't like he _should_ be the one holding the darksaber. There always seemed to be a part of his mind that wondered when Bo-Katan was going to show up and take it for her own like she'd been trying to for years.

Deeper than that, he knew if word of his armor being held in Peli's garage had spread off-world, so had the fact he possessed the darksaber. The less everyone knew, the safer they would be.

He hoped.

He wasn't sure what the best choice was anymore.

–

Cobb was lying on his back, gaze unfixed but pointed at the ceiling. He'd picked a living quarters that was bigger than he strictly needed; he hoped Din would be bunking with him but he wasn't quite sure how to bring that up.

When Din had first shown back up, Cobb was pretty sure he went through every stage of grief in the span of a breath. Din – the warrior who'd voluntarily gotten eaten by a dragon and acted like it was nothing – had shown up so broken that Cobb had hoped there was a case of mistaken identity for a fraction of a moment.

He'd since replayed that moment over and over, each time wondering why he'd thought that. It was a cruel thing to think; he did not consider _cruel_ to be a part of who he was. He was a just man to the point of violence, sure, but he was also a protector. He was a man Mos Pelgo had the audacity to bring into the world, as gritty as the sands of home.

But not cruel.

Mos Pelgo wasn't a place you got to stop and think much. The desert was hard, but the people who lived there were harder. Nobody stopped to talk about how they were feeling. Sure, behind closed doors, maybe, but not like seemed to be happening with this group.

Maybe it was a Mandalorian thing. He doubted it, though. They were a culture of warriors, of bounty hunters. They were a people whose main trade was death. In theory, there was no room in that paradigm to register how all the death made you feel without the entire empire crumbling.

He wasn't sure what to make of the Armorer. She seemed wise, molded by a war he knew nothing about. He couldn't tell which side been on, only that there were regrets that plagued her no matter how she tried to keep them at bay.

Maybe that was why she insisted on those who looked to her as the final authority keep their helmets on; if nobody can see your face, nobody will know how much the things you've done haunt you.

He scoffed at him self out loud. That idea was a ridiculous one, he told himself. Poetic, almost, but still ridiculous.

Paz...Paz was an interesting one, if not terrifying. His weaponry could take out a small city, but he seemed to have forgotten what he needed to do to take care of himself.

In a way, Paz reminded Cobb of himself in the days after Mos Pelgo was taken over by bandits: terrified, on the run from something that he knew would eventually catch up with him, and so deep into a primal, survival mindset that escaping whatever was tearing his world down that the need for the most basic things like food and water and sleep didn't even try to filter their way into his awareness.

The jealous thing was strange; Cobb couldn't tell if Paz was jealous of the fact Din was fucking Cobb or jealous of Din's station. 

He wasn't going to ask.

And then there was Peli. Scrappy, smarter than the rest of them combined, steadfast, and seeming to be in the right place at the right time, she was an anomaly within their fledgling group. She didn't appear to be running from anything, didn't have a past she was trying to outrun. She was...righteous but quiet about it.

Cobb was quite fond of Peli, really. He'd never met anyone like her; she carried an authenticity that made her both very approachable and a force to be reckoned with.

And his mind circled back to Din.

Back to trying to figure out how to say _I don't know if you've picked your quarters yet, but I'd like it very much if you picked mine._

In his head it was easy. It was the saying part he was stuck on.

He closed his eyes and tried to let his mind rest.

–

There were twenty-three doors on the ship. Six were hidden in the floor and ceilings to the point where if you didn't know what you were looking for you wouldn't see them, but they absolutely still counted as doors.

It had just been earlier that morning that Paz had – much to his embarrassment – collapsed on a stranger's floor and been given emergency medical treatment by a droid that was more likely to wind up feeding him the glass itself instead of the water.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, somehow.

He needed to spar.

Din was back in his armor – or at least he had been last time Paz saw him. If he was still in it, Paz would spar with him. 

Even if he wasn't, Paz might still spar with him.

Paz was angry at himself – for saying as much to Cobb as he had, for forgetting to drink water, for botching the hammer dodge so badly, for vomiting in a schoolhouse 'fresher instead of going to sleep for the night, for even insisting they come for the armor in the first place.

He'd gotten himself tied up in something he didn't understand and he saw no way of untying himself from it.

Din had everything: he'd been their beroya, he had the rightful claim to the throne of Mandalore, he had people who _wanted_ to stand by his side – not out of duty but out of care and attachment.

So why did Paz feel so terribly about himself for what Din had? 

Somewhere in his head, he knew Cobb was right; Din had lost everything, too.

Paz realized he wanted attention but would do just about anything to avoid actually asking for it.

He hated that realization.

–

In her quarters – captain's quarters, thank you very much – the Armorer sat polishing her helmet. She'd engaged every possible lock on thee door to ensure she could do so in peace.

The fact she knew she was leaving _her_ covert to fend for itself for an indefinite amount of time was nagging at her. _Yes,_ they were capable of taking care of themselves and _yes,_ they knew what to do in a worst-case scenario, but not being there with them was bothering her.

She knew why: most of them were _young._ They hadn't lived through the Purge, hadn't experience loss on a scale like they had on Nevarro before. She knew what that level of loss could do to even the most hardened Mandalorians. Even though her covert was comprised of many clans, they were more like a large, extended family than a collection of clans. 

She hadn't told them the truth about their work, hadn't told them that one of their own was the one who held the claim to the throne. Just that they were going to work, and they had no idea how long they'd be gone.

She wanted to be able to tell them where the Mandalorian people were going to rally together and become _Mandalorians_ again, the _covert_ part of it lopped off and left to disappear.

She wanted to be sure Din was going to be the King that Mandalore needed.

She'd been there for the fall, been there when the Sith has betrayed them. She'd seen her world and her people burning as those who could scattered to escape to other worlds.

Once, they had been warriors. Now, they were all too often little more than some other society's shadows.

They needed to go to where all this began.

They needed to go to Nevarro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two years ago I would have said 'hindsight is 2020,' but 2020 was fucking awful so I'm not really sure what cliché to apply to this lot right now.
> 
> I'm on a roll! We'll see how much I get done Saturday through Monday without work to take up my precious writing time. :3
> 
> As with most adventure, things get rolling slowly. But once this thing picks up speed, it's going to get GOING.


	20. Step One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Armorer wants to get the entire story from Cara; Paz doesn't want to go to Nevarro at all; Peli and Cobb are adjusting to, well, everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...we say we need to talk...

She'd called everyone into the cockpit so she could tell them where they were truly starting this thing.

“Nevarro,” the Armorer looked to everyone else in turn, “Our next stop is Nevarro.”

“Nevarro,” Din repeated and then asked, “Nevarro?”

Din was in full armor again. She'd always known the social cue advantage the helmets gave them, knew that those who interacted with a Mandalorian were paying so much attention to every other possible cue to make up for the inability to even see their tiny facial movements. It made other people clumsy in ways they would never know.

It was startling to realize she'd been expecting to get those tiny cues from Din.

“Nevarro,” Paz's voice was hollow, “You're sure?”

“Nevarro?” Peli asked, “What's special about Nevarro?”

“Everything about this started on Nevarro,” the Armorer told them.

“The covert used to be there,” Din added, “As was the Guild. Is the Guild.”

“Was the covert there because the Guild was there?” Peli asked.

“The Guild was not the only reason,” the Armorer told her, “It was easy to hide in the tunnels – they had been long forgotten by the people who lived on the surface.”

“And we had to hide,” Paz sounded like he was locking his jaw when he wasn't speaking, “We had to pretend we were little but shadows.”

“Why?” Cobb asked, “I've seen what you can-”

“You've seen what Din can do,” Paz cut him off, “Not what the Empire can do.”

“The hell I haven't,” Cobb was on his feet, “Don't tell me I don't know what the Empire is capable of.”

“How many did you lose?” Paz demanded, “How many of your siblings in arms fell because the Empire showed up?”

Cobb scoffed and sat back down, arms crossed and face red with anger.

“What, given up?” Paz tried to goad Cobb into a fight.

“The last time I argued with someone whose point I disagreed with,” Cob's teeth were still gritted as he spoke, “Din damn near melted my face off.”

Paz huffed and started to leave the bridge.

“Peli,” the Armorer said.

“On it,” Peli hit a few buttons. The cockpit door slammed itself shut. The locking mechanism engaged with loud series of clangs.

Paz roared in frustration and raised his gun at the door.

“We are going to Nevarro,” the Armor said again, louder, “Stay in here if you want, Paz Vizsla, but _this ship_ is landing on the planet's surface.”

Paz lowered his weapon and banged his fist on the door with his other hand. Peli flinched away from the sound. Cobb saw Peli flinch and put his hand on Paz's wrist, open palmed instead of a grip, trying to tell Paz to calm down without saying it, but Paz still whirled around towards Cobb, ready to fight. Cobb pulled his hand back and stepped back to try to put some distance between them.

“No,” Peli was on her feet and between them instantly, “No fighting in my cockpit.”

“Your cockpit?” Paz was mocking her.

“Her cockpit,” the Armorer affirmed Peli's claim to the ship.

Peli was standing with both feet firmly on the ground and her chest puffed up. She was shaking, though, the fact she knew that she didn't stand a chance against Paz if he did want a fight evident.

“Let me out,” Paz demanded.

Peli looked to the Armorer, who nodded. Peli hit a few buttons again and the door slid open. Paz stormed out.

As soon as he was out of sight, Peli deflated, still shaking.

“Oh Peli,” Cobb's voice was soft, “Come here.”

And Peli did. She stood in front of Cobb and Cobb coaxed her into putting her head on his chest. He wrapped both arms around her and she went limp.

Din removed a glove to put a hand on Peli's shoulder.

“You're a good on, Peli,” Din told her.

“More than you know,” the Armorer added, then repeated, “More than you know.”

“I'm going after Paz,” Din said as he tugged his glove back on.

The Armorer sighed and watched Din run off.

“Second worst idea I've head all day,” Cobb said as Din took off at a jog.

“What was the worst?” Peli asked, her fear she'd suppressed leaking out in her voice.

“If Paz's reaction was anything to go on, going to Nevarro,” Cobb shook his head.

“He tries not to care,” the Armorer was looking in the direction Paz and Din had gone, “and those efforts do damage wherever they crop up.”

“I can tell you're furious,” Peli said, “Your heart's racing.”

“I lost everything, too,” Cob said absently.

“And yet, Mos Pelgo is still there,” Peli said.

“Barely,” Cobb huffed hard enough his breath ruffled the very top of Peli's hair.

“Because of you, from what I can tell,” Peli told him.

The Armorer started to feel like she was watching a moment that wasn't meant for her.

“I did what I had to,” Cobb's voice was tight.

“I'm going to make sure those two don't kill each other,” the Armorer told them.

She left before she stole any more of whatever that moment meant for those two.

–

Paz had tried to strike first.

Din had made his footfalls heavy on purpose. Sneaking up on Paz, regardless of if it was intentional or not, never ended well for the one doing the sneaking.

Paz had not raised his gun, thankfully – even with his armor the bullet impacts _hurt_ – but rather grabbed his knife from who-knew-where and tried to get close enough to Din to stab behind the Beskar.

Din was light on his feet all at once; he knew this dance, knew how Paz sparred when he meant it. Paz meant it this time – he would only stop once he'd gotten a hit or been incapacitated.

Sometimes, when he wasn't fighting for his life, Din considered what a formidable foe Paz would have been had he been born just a few years earlier. He would have been on the front line of every single battle he found himself in, would have been worth twenty and more soldiers.

Instead, Paz was relegated to a life underground, his legacy denied due to an accident within his existence.

And he took it out on anyone and everyone the moment an opportunity to do so presented itself.

As he parried blows, he thought about how everyone within the covert knew not to provoke Paz. Paz was loyal to the covert, yes, but he was loyal, too, to the _idea_ of the covert. He did not tolerate anything he considered to be disloyalty, and he made sure everyone knew it.

Enforcing loyalty to covert and Creed had been Paz's personal war, and he fought like hell.

Which was great, really, unless you were the target.

The last time they'd been in a scrap like this, it had started with Din trying to remove Paz's helmet for believing Din to be a traitor and an Imperial sympathizer. 

This time?

This time it was for showing up.

Din understood, he really did. He had no desire to go back to where his sins had gotten so many of their covert slaughtered. Hell, he'd only gone back to get Cara and Greef's support because he could not do it on his own.

Din's chest was heaving for more air, the exertion that was fighting Paz starting to take its toll.

 _ **“Enough!”**_ the Armorer's voice boomed from the far end of the hall.

Paz froze, an ingrained instinct to yield to the Armorer outweighing his need for catharsis. 

Paz's knife was right at Din's jawline, just under his helmet. Din had no idea whether or not Paz had cut into his blacks.

Din's knife was under Paz's right vambrace. A flick of his wrist and Din would have cut the strap and loosed the thing.

Paz seemed to realize this and withdrew.

“Are you done?” Din grunted as he put his knife away.

“Probably not,” there was a snarl behind it.

“We are _going_ to Nevarro,” the Armor's voice was hard, “because there is a woman there who will be able to help guide us in what we will need to see if we are to understand what is to come, for all of us.”

“Care,” Din realized, “Why Cara?”

“You, Din Djarin, are the very epicenter of this,” the Armorer told him, “and there are many things you are unable to see because of that. Now, if you two can assure me there will be five _live_ passengers arriving on Nevarro, I will go make sure we actually get there.”

“Actually get there?” Din honed in on her last three words.

“Peli has never left Tatooine before this,” the Armorer pointed out as she headed back towards the 

“Huh,” was all Din could say.

Paz was frozen in place, his knife still drawn.

“You weren't there,” Paz snarled.

“I wanted to be,” Din's shoulders dropped, “I saw the aftermath, I tried to stay and help our Armorer-”

“The aftermath,” Paz scoffed, “I was there when they came, I was there when the Imps came for us! _**I**_ ”

“You think I didn't know that?” Din's volume was rising without him giving it permission to do so, “You think yours wasn't the first helmet I looked for?”

Paz ticked his knife back into its hiding spot.

“Don't you dare,” Paz warned him, “Don't you dare do this to me.”

“And when I realized I had no idea how much she'd melted,” Din continued despite Paz's warning, “Realized I had no way of knowing if yours had been in there?”

“Don't,” Paz was reaching for his knife again.

“You have no idea what _I've_ been through,” Din touched his hand to his chest, “Just as I have no way of knowing what you've been through.”

Paz made a _humph_ sound and stalked off.

It was as good of an end to the fight as any, Din figured, even if he'd said entirely too much.

–

“Thanks,” Peli sniffed against Cobb's chest right as the Armorer walked back in the cockpit.

“No problem,” Cob was still holding her against him.

The Armorer started entering coordinates for Nevarro without indicating she recognized they were still standing there.

“You're something else, Peli,” Cobb said with a small laugh.

“I'm terrified,” Peli told him, “Haven't even left the city in years and now I'm going to be on _three_ different worlds without even sleeping between them.”

“Being terrified and being brave are not mutually exclusive things to be,” the Armorer told her.

“I don't feel brave,” Peli felt so small when held up against the likes of Cobb and the Armorer.

“Bravery is not something you feel,” the Armorer said as she finished punching in the coordinates, “but rather something others see in you.”

Din entered the reentered the cockpit, sans armor, and asked, “Holding up alright, Peli?”

“I think so,” Peli made a move to stand up on her own again in case Din was the jealous type. Her feelings for Cobb did not extend beyond _terrified and in need of comfort_ but she could imagine what it looked like.

“Easy,” Din said softly, his chest against her back as he sandwiched her between himself and Cobb.

“Thanks,” Peli sniffed.

“I've found it helps,” Din told her.

Peli made a noise of agreement and nodded.

She wondered how she could ever even wonder if Din was the jealous type.

–

In his quarters, Paz sat on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around himself in a poor simulacrum of a hug.

–

“I need to get my armor back on,” Din announced when he realized they were almost there, “Greef isn't going to believe it's me without it.”

Cobb followed him, a grin on his face.

“They're going to be a minute,” Peli said with a small laugh. She was sitting in the pilot's seat; the Armorer was in co-pilot's.

“They think they're subtle,” there was a smile in the Armorer's voice.

“You seem to be handling everything well,” Peli meant it as a compliment.

“I have to,” the Armorer lowered her head, “Anything less, and those two...”

There was a long silence that settled in uncomfortable.

“I don't...” the Armorer tried again.

“I get it,” Peli told her, “Say it aloud and it gives it a life it didn't have before.”

Which was exactly why she hadn't said anything about her garage.

She shoved that thought and all the ones that tried to follow it out of her head and focused on the novelty of standing on other planets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so _How to Save a Life_ lyrics stopped working for this chapter after the title and start note, but I didn't try very hard.
> 
> I've had far too much caffeine today and I just sat down to write at something like 10P my time, which means y'all are getting multiple chapters in rapidfire.
> 
> Your kudos and comments give me life. I love you all to bits. I'm glad you're here. <3


	21. Just a Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They think they're subtle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this chapter in my outline? No. Could I help myself? Also no.
> 
> Enjoy!

Din nearly shoved Cobb into his own quarters, a desperate hunger and awareness of how soon they'd be landing translating to outright impatience. Cobb's hands were all over him, tugging and pulling and desperate to touch _everywhere_ all at once.

The door slid shut behind him and Cobb palmed Din's crotch and Din _groaned_ as his knees gave out.

“Oh Din,” Cobb's voice was pleading.

“Cobb,” Din felt as desperate as Cobb sounded.

“How quick can you get your armor on?” Cobb asked.

“Seconds,” Din told him, “It's, ah, it's drilled in, to be fast.”

“Let's see how fast you can be at other things,” Cobb teased.

A grin flashed across Din's face and he pushed Cobb onto the bed before he pounced, knees landing on either side of Cobb's thighs.

“Oh,” Cobb's eyes went wide.

“Good?” Din asked as he kissed Cobb. It was as much teeth as it was tongue; Din was too desperate to be careful.

“Very,” Cobb's answer came between chances for quick breaths during the kiss.

Cobb palmed Din's crotch again, this time with more force and Din all but rutted into Cobb's hand trough his blacks. He applied a little pressure and Din's head tilted back, lips parted and eyes closed.

Cobb raised one knee until it came into contact with Din's crotch and he grinned when Din's eyes went wide.

Din nudged Cobb's other leg to the side with a few taps and took the space to grope at Cobb. Cobb's cock was hard, easy to feel through his pants, and Din rotated his palm and leaned into Cobb, who groaned and raised his knee just a little bit.

“Fucking pants,” Din grumbled when he remembered Cobb's belt.

“Keep that up and I just might,” Cobb laughed.

Din let out a single-syllable chuckle and kissed Cobb again. Cobb managed to get Din to shuffle with him until Cobb's legs were spread and they were crotch-to-crotch, dry humping each other not quite in the same cadence.

“Cobb,” Din moaned against Cobb's mouth.

Din pushed himself up onto his forearms to take as much weight as he could off his legs and shift the weight of his lower body _into_ Cobb. Cobb locked Din's legs with his own and their rhythms finally synced up.

Cobb reached around Din and grabbed Din's ass and squeezed as hard as he could and Din put more of his weight onto Cobb and wished he'd taken off his damned blacks because all of the sudden he wanted nothing more than to find out what Cobb's fingernails felt like when they were digging into his skin.

Din broke the kiss to bite Cobb's neck and Cobb tossed his head back and Din had access to Cobb's entire neck so he bit again and again, each bite drawing new sounds from Cobb.

Din started humping faster, desperate, hungry, so hungry, so needy for everything Cobb was willing to give him.

“Din,” Cob's core muscles went tense and Din knew what was about to happen.

“Yes,” Din hissed, “Fuck, Cobb, _**yes**_!”

Time and existence itself blurred together and Cobb came with a shout, fingers digging into Din's blacks even harder and Din imagined what it would have felt like naked and it sent Din over the edge, his own orgasm crashing into the tail end of Cobb's.

Din let his full weight lean on Cobb and they laid there for a moment, panting and letting the whole thing wash over them.

“Fuck,” Din breathed,

“That's the general idea,” Cobb chuckled, winded, “Now, we both get to find out how fast we can change clothes entirely.”

“Slower than usual,” Din groaned as he pushed himself off of Cobb and stood up slowly, “Not complaining.”

Din didn't think he could ever complain about this sort of thing. Not with Cobb.

Din's heart fluttered as he realized he'd put his spare blacks in Cobb's room without asking and Cobb hadn't said anything about it. 

Like their lives just slotted together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost called this one 'Just a Quickie.' A quick chapter, yes, but hey – so was the amount of time they had.


	22. To Wash Away His Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team lands on Nevarro.
> 
> Also, there's water falling from the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot! Feelings! Cara! This chapter had almost everything!
> 
> Enjoy!!

Din was clenching and clenching his fists to avoid bouncing on his toes. There was too much energy in the form of nerves coursing through his entire body and he had to let it out _somewhere._

“Din,” Cobb said gently and grabbed one of Din's hands.

“Yeah,” Din forced himself still, “Yeah, sorry.”

“It's alright,” Cobb assured him, “Hell, I'd be nervous, too, in your position.”

From what Cobb had been able to piece together, things only went wrong on Nevarro, and everyone thought it was their fault, but hadn't been able to address those feelings – to others _or_ to themselves.

They'd landed just far enough away from the city that they had a decent walk. The Armorer said it was safest if the ship was well away from the pain spaceport. Cobb thought that, secretly, she also wanted to burn some nervous energy and chose to do so by walking.

“Din,” the Armorer addressed the poor man, “it would be deeply appreciated if you would take us _to_ Cara instead of making us hunt her down.”

“Understood,” Din nodded.

Paz and Peli were staying on the ship; neither of them seemed aware that the other was staying on board, and, honestly, Cobb hoped it stayed that way.

“Ready?” the Armorer asked both of them.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Din said with a loud exhale.

The Armorer lowered the ramp and they started walking together, footsteps wildly out of sync but still managing to carry a sense of _we are one group before we are three individuals._

Cobb wondered if all Mandalorians felt like this in groups. If so, he could understand why it was so hard for children they'd found to leave when given the chance.

He pushed those thoughts aside for now, for Din's sake.

The air on Nevarro looked hazy, as if it was just slightly out of focus. He hesitated before he stepped out into the open air, but he did not want to fall behind.

When he was in the open air, he was instantly assaulted by...

...falling droplets of water, heavy, constant things that soaked through his clothes. He hadn't realized he'd frozen in place until the Armorer cleared her throat.

“It's...” Cobb whispered, “It's...PELI!”

Cob turned on his heels and sprinted back into the ship, screaming for Peli. He was dimly aware of Din sprinting after him and the Armorer sprinting after Din.

“PELI!!!” he pounded on the cockpit door.

“In the middle of something!” Peli called through the door.

“Peli, it's **rain**!” Cobb was shouting.

“No longer in the middle of something!” Peli shouted back and a clattering sounded from the cockpit. Peli emerged a moment later, “Rain?”

“Rain!” Cobb told her again.

“Well come on!” Peli whooped as she took off towards the ramp. Cobb ran after her, both of them laughing and whooping. They nearly ran into Din, and then the three of them nearly ran into the Armorer.

“What are they doing?” the Armorer asked as they four of them ran as a pack outside again.

“No idea,” Din told her. Cobb and Peli just laughed as they descended the ramp. Once outside, they both stopped in their tracks and looked up at the sky, smiling and laughing and letting the rain soak them through entirely.

Din realized he'd never felt rain on his skin before either. He hesitated before he considered how far they were from the city, so he took his helmet off and let the rain soak his face, his hair. 

“Whoa,” Din breathed.

Heavy footfalls were running down the ramp.

“There was yelling, what-?” was was shouting. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the three of them, dumbfounded.

“Rain,” Cob laughed, “It's...rain's real, rain is a think that happens.”

“If I stand like this long enough it may well wash away the sins amassed by good I've left undone,” Din said so absently Cobb wasn't sure Din was aware he'd set it at all.

“Uhm,” Paz kind of stammered out as he started backing back into the ship.

“Oi,” Peli said and Paz froze. She dug something out of her pocket and told Paz to, “Catch!”

Paz caught it and looked at it, head tilted to the side in an unspoken question.

“Speeder's in the cargo bay,” Peli told him, “Go take it somewhere private.”

“Uhm,” Paz stammered again as he stared at the keys.

“Enjoy,” the Armorer was giving him permission to do just that, “You three, city, let's go.”

It made Cobb's heart happy that Peli came with them, every fiber of her being enjoying the feel of rain on her skin.

–

Cara had been expecting a boring day.

In all fairness to this particular day, every day since she'd gotten back had been boring in comparison to, well.

In comparison to commandeering a ship that was supposed to be impossible to even find, arresting a war criminal who was supposed to have been dead already, and watching _Luke Skywalker_ take out what was supposed to be the next-generation Storm Troopers?

Every day was boring.

She knew of Luke Skywalker, knew his sister was Princess Leia, _Alderaan's_ Princess Leia, one of the only other people from her homeworld to survive. 

It had been the closest thing to seeing _someone she knew_ remember what all the sacrifices of the war had been for.

She did not regret taking this job, did not regret coming back to Nevarro when all was said and done, but she wasn't going to kid herself. Every day was going to be boring.

But the thing about the universe, Cara kept learning, was it always had ways of surprising you.

This particular surprise came in the form of four people: Din Djarin, his covert's Armorer, and two sopping wet strangers who were smiling so much it unnerved her.

“Din,” Cara heard herself say, “I wasn't expecting you.”

“Have you ever?” there was a lightness in Din's voice that she might have cried with relief to hear in another life.

“I supposed not,” she managed a smile as she said it, “To what do I owe the pleasure? And who are your, uh, companions?” The last word had come out like she wasn't sure it was the right one to use, a question buried within a question.

“In reverse order you asked them, this is Peli, my mechanic, and this is Cobb,” Din paused, “my...Cobb's my boyfriend.”

Cara couldn't help but notice Cobb's smile got wider. It was unnerving, yes, but actually kind of adorable to hear Din stumble over the introduction like that.

Not that she'd ever say so much to his face.

“As for why we are here,” the Armorer picked up where Din had stopped talking entirely, “Things seem to have...changed, recently, and we are trying to piece together what form those changes will take.”

“I see,” Cara said despite meaning the exact opposite.

“You three,” the Armorer addressed Din, Cobb, and Peli, “Go...go stand out in the rain, if you will, for a few moments.”

Cara raised an eyebrow as the three of them shuffled out the door again, Din saying something that sounded like _sorry_ followed by, _Let us back in in a few minutes?_ and Cara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Why didn't you want them in here?” Cara asked as soon as the door was shut again.

“Two of them have never seen rain before and I was a little worried they were going to stare at the sky with their mouths open for so long they'd drown,” the Armorer sounded like she wasn't exaggerating, “And Din has...not been entirely forthcoming with how much he's left the universe changed in his wake.”

“And you think I'll be honest where Din hasn't?” Cara had neither time or patience to deal with the Armorer's vagueness. 

“I think you have insight we could use,” the Armorer seemed to not be in the mood to be direct with Cara.

“Look,” Cara sat down behind her desk, “I don't know what you're on about, but I know for a fact he removed his helmet. I noticed, though, that he's got it back on and you – who, correct me if I'm wrong, but have been the enforcer of the Creed he's been so married to – are standing here in front of me while he's in blatant defiance of this Creed, so I think there's also more to this than _you_ want to let on.”

“I see how you've survived so long,” the Armorer might have been threatening her, “Smart, observant, unafraid.”

“Yeah well you live through enough, that fear instinct dies off,” Cara told her, “We almost lost him, you know? Right before you made him come with us when he wanted to stay behind. He almost let himself bleed out inside his helmet because of your Creed. What use is a dead warrior that could have been saved with a single spray of-”

“Bacta,” the Armorer interrupted her, “You honestly think I couldn't smell it on him?”

“You knew,” the realization hit Cara like it was a physical force, “You knew and yet you let him go.”

The Armorer nodded and Cara let herself lean back in her chair.

“Things have changed recently,” the Armorer repeated, “and I am trying to figure out what shape those changes are taking.”

Cara sighed and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the very edge of her desk, forearms bracing the desk and shoulders bearing most of the weight of her upper body.

This was going to be a very, very interesting conversation.

–

They'd run into Greef at the market.

“Mando!” Greef called out to him, “Good to see you around these parts!”

“Greef,” Din's return greeting was guarded, stiff; there was some old bad blood that they'd clearly once pretended was past but Din wasn't entirely convinced.

Peli was good at reading people like that.

“I see you've brought friends,” Greef said, arms open for a moment in what was meant to be a welcoming gesture, “Come, let's eat and talk.”

“I think,” Peli answered for Din so the entire weight of escaping wandering too far from the Armorer didn't rest solely on Din, “that we're going to stay outside, but thanks.”

“In the rain?” Greef said with a laugh.

“In the rain,” Cobb confirmed, “Is there something wrong with that?”

“You're got yourself some strange friends, Mando,” Greef laughed again; he meant no harm by it, but it still rubbed Peli the wrong way. Greef kept talking before anyone could say anything, though: “If you're here for work, I've got plenty for you.”

“I'm afraid I'm after something bigger,” Din was positioning himself so Cobb and Peli were behind him; he wasn't conscious of it, Peli could tell.

It was just something Din did.

“Ah,” Greef brought his hands together, clasped right above his waist, a guarded position, “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It seems that _something bigger_ has been waiting for you for a long time.”

That wasn't ominous or worrying in the least.

Greef made a show of excusing himself and departing, leaving the three of them to stand in the rain.

“You're not weird,” Din said to them as Greef left.

“We are a little bit,” Cobb shrugged.

Peli elbowed him in the stomach and he made an _oomph_ sound and winced away from it but chuckled as he stood back up again.

“Wouldn't trade either of you for all the bounties in the Guild,” Din said it like he meant it.

–

Paz had, after so much more time than he would admit just standing on the ramp, did take Peli's speeder.

Her droids hadn't been near it, hadn't locked themselves tot he vehicle so no one else could drive it, so he was able to make quick work of starting it and driving away.

He wondered, as he searched for a place where there were no signs of life at all, where her droids had gotten to.

He then spent a good chunk of time wondering why he was wondering about the droids at all.

Truth was, he didn't understand Peli at all; here was someone who had _just_ lost everything, yet instead of it breaking her, it galvanized her.

He'd treated her – and Cobb, and Din – like shit and she responded by...

...by giving him the keys to her speeder so he, too, could feel the rain on his face for the first time in private.

Once he was sure – beyond sure, closest to certain as he was willing to ever be, really – that he was alone, he took off his helmet and looked to the sky.

The first few droplets felt like miniature blows to the face, but once he adjusted to the shock, they just...washed over him. They were cold, but it wasn't a harsh cold, not even close to a harsh anything.

He understood what Din meant when he said it felt like, if he stood there long enough, his sins created by the good he'd left undone could be washed away.

Paz wondered how long a man like him would have to stand in the rain to accomplish such a feat.

–

When Cara and the Armorer finally stepped out of Cara's office, the rain had started to let up. Din, Cobb, and Peli were still standing in it though, just as the Armorer has told them to do.

“Alright,” Cara said to get their attention, “sounds like we're going on a bit of a tour.”

“You're coming?” Din sounded hopeful, the Armorer noted.

Hope was a good thing to hear, however fleeting.

“Wouldn't miss it,” Cara said simply.

“So what, uh,” Din looked between them, “What did you two talk about?”

“Sorry buddy, that was behind closed doors,” Cara said before the Armorer could answer.

“Rude,” Din informed her.

“Yeah, well, I've been called worse things,” Cara clapped her hands together, “Let's go.”

It was impressive how quickly Cara got the three of them to mobilize; this was someone who knew how to lead, even if it wasn't a position she was first in line to volunteer for.

The Armorer was glad Cara had decided to come. She'd see how Cara was in an emergency; now she was measuring Cara's caliber in what passed for something close to a normal situation.

After all, the Armorer had a suspicion none of them were going to have a day that truly passed for _normal_ again, and Din could use all the supporters the universe could muster.

–

“Okay, so, where to?” Peli asked the Armorer as she started up the ship.

They'd rallied back at the ship and immediately began to get going again. Paz had been waiting for them; his armor was covered in beads of water and he seemed _relaxed_ for the first time in years.

“To Corvus,” the Armorer started entering the coordinates, “We have a Jedi to meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the last chapter for tonight; it's 3AM here and I feel like 3AM-5AM are Semi-Universal Weird Brain Hours, which, when reflected on after some sleep, tend to turn out not as conducive to coherent writing as they felt the night before.


	23. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to Corvus involves a lot of waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cara's going to be such an _interesting_ element to introduce to this group.

The Armorer had called them all to the cockpit – again, as if that hadn't gone poorly enough the first time – to tell them they were headed for Corvus.

“Corvus,” Din's eyes went wide and then he repeated, “Corvus, alright, makes sense.”

“What's on Corvus?” Cobb asked.

“Isn't that a forest planet?” Paz asked, “Lots of trees, lots of good places to stage an ambush, not a lot of settlements.”

“Someone's been reading up,” the Armorer sounded pleased and Paz stood up a little straighter.

“A Jedi,” Din said through gritted teeth, “A Jedi is on Corvus.”

“That's a terrible idea,” Paz crossed his arms and tried to become one with the cockpit's back wall so he didn't have to hear any more about seeking a Jedi.

“Have to say, I agree with the Heavy,” Cara didn't know his name yet, “Din, what did you call them, _enemy sorcerers_?”

“You met one on Gideon's spacecraft,” the Armorer pointed out, “And one in the form of the child.”

“Grogu,” Din and Cobb both corrected her.

“Din, have you met this one?” Cara asked.

“Yeah,” Din's mouth was drawn into a think line in a way that was obvious he was biting the inside of his lips, “She. She refused to train Grogu.”

“And?” the Armorer knew there was more to the story and wanted to see if he'd tell the rest now.

“And I was offered a pure Beskar spear to kill her,” Din looked at the Armorer in a way that told everyone else he was daring her to make eye contact behind her helmet.

“Of course you were,” Paz muttered. Peli elbowed him in the stomach like it had any effect.

“And did you take it?” The armorer asked. 

“Yes,” Din was still staring the Armorer down, “after we killed the woman who was keeping the town hostage and freed her prisoners.”

“Of course you did,” Cobb shook his head. Peli elbowed him in the stomach for good measure. 

Without armor or even padding to guard him against the hit, Cobb doubled over for a moment and covered the stop she'd hit with both hands.

“I like this one,” Cara decided, looking at Peli with a small smile.

“I'm quite fond of myself too,” Peli was grinning, “So, we're going to, what, go to _another_ planet, find this Jedi, talk with her and see what happens?”

“We'll go to the town first,” the Armorer said it like she'd just decided it.

“Good way to see how Din's impacted people,” Cara agreed, “That's what you're doing, yeah?”

“Correct,” the Armorer nodded, “In the mean time, try to get some rest, all of you. It's a long flight and we've probably been up for two days at this point.”

“We have?” Peli blinked a few times.

“It's easy to lose track, “ Din shrugged, “Rest sounds fantastic.”

Din slipped out first without another word, leaving the other five in the cockpit, trying to figure out who actually owned the moment and, in turn, who could put the moment to rest such that the rest of them might follow.

–

Paz did not want to sleep.

There were too many strangers, too many unknown variables, too much he was putting at risk if he honestly let himself relax.

But his quarters were warm and the bed passed for soft, so once he let himself lay down sleep sunk its claws into him before he could do so much as offer up a token resistance.

–

“So uh,” Cara and Peli were the last two in the cockpit, “How does the quarters selection work here?”

“I have no idea,” Peli admitted, “I think they're first come, first serve but I don't suspect anyone put their name on their door or anything.”

“Well,” Cara decided, “I'm going to go try to find somewhere to set myself up and hope I don't open the door on a helmetless Mandalorian.”

“Good luck,” Peli said it like she meant it.

Cara ran through a few preferences to help guide her room selection process.

One, she was getting her own quarters. She was terrible at sharing and even worse at it when she was in a position of forced vulnerability – like sleep.

Two, she wasn't going to bunk with anyone next to her room if she could help it. Interior ship walls were only so thick, and if anyone kept her up snoring she might strangle them before the week was not. It wouldn't be malicious, just driven by a sleepless hysteria.

Three – and probably finally – it would be as far away from the engine as possible. Engines made noise, and noise dulled your ability to hear things well before you needed to hear them.

She walked the ship slowly, noting any closed doors that didn't open as she put a hand to them – locked from the inside – and taking a look around any rooms unlocked doors revealed to her.

One of the rooms had been full of bumbling droids chittering at each other as they wrestled. She'd closed the door and tried not to think about why anyone had a roomful of droids like that.

Only one of the doors was locked.

Eventually, she found a room next to what looked like was meant to be a miniature mess hall that met all of her criteria.

She didn't even bother to take her boots off before she flopped face-down on the bed and willed her body to rest.

She knew how this worked; there was no telling when the next time she'd be able to do this. And rest was good rest.

They might not all be soldiers, but the Armorer was running them like they were. Cara wouldn't address that part, not yet. She wanted to watch first, see what the Armorer thought she could get away with without outright taking control.

In theory, the Armorer was doing this for Din and his legacy. Cara didn't buy that for a moment; there was something much bigger at play and she was going to make sure it wasn't going to have the chance to crush Din because it snuck up to him in the form of someone he trusted. 

In practice, Cara was going to rest and, when time came to go see the town Din had saved and then just never mentioned again, she was going to get up and _take watch._

–

Peli found her droids before she found a place to sleep.

“There you are!” she exclaimed when she opened a door to see them, “What are you doing in here?”

They swarmed her ankles, still chittering away. She laughed and patted them each on the head twice.

“Behave yourselves,” she told them, “and if you can't keep quiet go harass each other in the cargo bay.”

They skittered off, tumbling and chittering and making Peli smile like everything was this simple and honest, for just even if just for the moment.

She eventually settled on a crawlspace as her sleeping quarters. It was secure on all sides except the entrance, so she slept with her head near it and her blaster in easy arm's reach, just in case.

Because nothing was simple any more, and she knew that.

She wasn't expecting any threats from her current traveling companions, Paz included – he was brash and terrified but not malicious – but the _worry_ of _what might happen_ kept pulling her thoughts away from the moment.

–

The Armorer took first watch without telling anyone else there _was_ a watch.

–

Din was already in Cobb's quarters when Cobb got there.

“Hope this is okay?” Din asked.

“More than,” Cobb's face lit up and his heart fluttered for a few beats.

“Good,” Din smiled at him and his knees went weak.

“Good,” Cobb repeated. It was the truth.

Din was good and Cobb wasn't about to let Din forget it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, just waltz into a previously enslaved town protected by a Jedi who saw the rise _and_ fall of Darth Vader, what could possibly go wrong?
> 
> I am **awake** and _ready to write_ today; let's do this!


	24. Port of Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship sex? Ship sex!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, it's porn!
> 
> If this smutty oneshot is going to have sixty times the chapters initially expected, I'm at least going to make sure smut makes an appearance as often as possible.

There was a point in Cobb's like where he didn't believe in luck, not really. You made your own fortune through the choices you made. Everything else was incidental.

After everything, he _almost_ believed in luck now.

Certainly, laying naked on his back with an equally naked Din laying on his side so he could curl up to Cobb and lay his head on Cobb's chest while he let Cobb play with his hair absently helped bolster that belief into the realm of _nearly tangible._

“I hope it was okay,” Din said as he planted a kiss on Cobb's chest, “calling you my boyfriend.”

“More than,” Cobb squeezed him a little tighter.

“I know we haven't really,” Din sounded nervous, “We haven't really _talked_ about any of this.”

“We haven't,” Cobb agreed, “but I'm okay with that.”

Din Made a humming sound so Cobb tried to get the point he wanted to make across again: “You're up against – have been up against for a while – something so big no one can make out the shape of it. But this? This is easy.”

Din snorted a little and Cobb rushed to try a third time, “Not that you're easy!”

Din laughed, a light thing and told Cobb, “I came back to Mod Pelgo for you. Not for the location, for you.”

“I don't think anyone comes to Mos Pelgo for the location,” Cobb said absently and Din laughed again.

If Cobb could have that sound on loop, there might never be room for doubt in his head again. 

“What I mean is,” Cobb tried a forth time, “whatever's going on between us, it feels like it's supposed to be there,” Cobb paused, “like you're supposed to be there.”

Cobb could feel Din's smile, Din's lips moving against his chest as the thing formed and Cobb held Din even tighter. He felt his heart hammering in his chest as Din put one arm across Cobb and squeezed, a gentle thing that anchored Cobb firmly in the here and now.

“I'm glad,” Din told him, “I'm glad it's you.”

Cobb pressed a chaste kiss to Din's forehead and Din stretched up to kiss the bottom of Cobb's jaw.

“We're supposed to be resting,” Din said.

“I _am_ resting,” Cobb was doing no such thing, “Not sure what you're doing down there.”

Din made a faux offended noise and pulled at Cobb until Cobb rolled over on his side to face Din. Din was grinning, a near-feral thing.

“Certainly not resting,” Din said as he traced his nails down Cobb's back. Cobb shivered and Din traced his nails back up Cobb's back.

“Well apparently neither am I,” Cobb wondered how long a post-sex rush could be substituted for sleep.

Din chuckled, a deep sound that went right to Cobb's dick.

Cobb pressed a kiss to Din's lips with a force that might bruise. Din bit Cobb's lower lip and slipped one of his legs between Cobb's. Cobb squeezed Din's leg with his thighs and Din bit Cobb's lip again, pulling a little this time. Cobb leaned forward, let Din lead him wherever Din wanted him.

Din made a pleased sound and looped one arm across Cobb's back. Cobb looped one arm around Din and just under him, longer arms letting him effectively pin Din both against him and to the bed.

“Hey Cobb?” Din's voice was so, so very light and _alive_ in all the ways the universe needed Din alive.

In all the ways Cobb needed Din alive.

“Hey Din?” Cobb returned the question.

“Boyfriend,” Din grinned when he said it and Cobb grinned too and kissed Din again and again until Din rolled onto his back, coaxing Cobb to come straggle him.

“Boyfriend,” Cobb echoed. The word felt fantastic on his tongue.

Din kissed him and he swore there was a lining under his skin he'd never known was there that just caught fire, as if Din was a man made of stardust and he'd just transferred some of his secrets to Cobb.

“Cobb,” Din breathed.

“Mine,” Cobb wasn't sure where the sentiment came from but he knew he loved the feel of it.

“Yours,” Din nodded.

It was a surrender that hollowed Cobb out and then filled him with the closest thing to _love_ he'd ever been able to feel.

Cobb rutted against Din's stomach and it was Din's turn to shuffle until his legs flanked Cobb's own. Cobb rutted against Din again and Din dug his nails into Cobb's back with a gasp.

“Good?” Din asked, nails still digging into Cobb.

“Fantastic,” Cobb meant it.

Din made a pleased humming sound and wrapped his legs around Cobb's waist, locking Cobb against him.

“Fuck, Din,” Cobb wanted to bury himself _in_ Din.

“Dare say that's the point,” Din said with a small laugh. Cobb laughed and swatter Din on the shoulder. Din nipped at Cobb's fingers and Cobb wondered how Din hadn't been there his entire life.

There was nothing to use as lube and Cobb didn't want to wind up hurting Din, so decided he'd make some accommodations and and fuck between Din's thighs with his own precum as a sort-of slickening agent.

“Hey,” Cobb said as he nudged at Din's jaw with his nose so he could kiss at Din's neck, “I've got an idea but I'm going to need you to flip over.”

“Yeah, alright,” Din thrust against Cobb once before unwrapping his legs from Cobb's waist and managing to turn over without Cobb having to move.

Cobb made a note to see what else Din could do as soon as the change presented itself.

“Gonna fuck between your thighs,” Cobb told him ad he hoisted Din up by the hips.

Din _whined_ and Cobb squeezed Din's hips harder, an unconscious thing but when he loosened his grip Din said, “You can squeeze,” so quickly it was all one word so Cobb did, letting his fingers squeeze however hard they wanted to as he adjusted himself so he _could_ fuck Din's thighs instead of blindly thrust in that general direction.

Cobb finally, _finally,_ got himself lined up and Din whined again when Cobb's dick hit his balls and Cobb lost himself in all the breathy little noised Din was making with each thrust.

Cobb reached forward to thread one hand through Din's hair.

“Good?” Cobb asked.

“Very,” Din managed to say, “You, ah, you can, ah fuck, Cobb, you can,” Din kept trying to form a sentence and failing.

Cobb tugged at Din's hair and asked, “This?”

“Yesss,” Din hissed, “That, fuck _Cobb!_ ”

“Dare say that's the point,” Cobb couldn't help it.

Din laughed and then moaned in short order when Cobb pulled his hair again, head thrown back and back muscles _rippling_.

Cobb could get used to this view, if Din would let him.

Cobb felt himself getting close to orgasming, so he withdrew his hand from Din's hair and reached back and around to stroke Din's cock in time with his thrusts. Din bucked against him with a cry and then bit the bedding to avoid screaming as he came.

“Fuck,” Cobb bit off the curse as he came, too, and flopped forward, covering Din's body with his own.

Din made a content, sighing sound and Cobb kissed the back of his head.

Cobb looped his arms under Din's armpits and crossed them so each hand held onto Din's opposite shoulder. Din tilted his head sideways to kiss Cobb's arm where he could reach it.

Cobb might fall asleep like this, knowledge they'd have so much more to clean up if they didn't at least wipe themselves down _now_ and all.

He laid there and listened to Din's breathing even out as the kisses to his arm got slower and further apart.

“Din?” Cobb asked quietly, “Din, you awake?”

“Mmhmm,” Din did not sound awake.

Cobb chuckled and nestled his face between Din's cheek and shoulder 

“Boyfriend,” Din sounded almost entirely asleep.

Cobb Vanth was, he decided in that moment, one of the luckiest bastards the stars ever spit out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that this chapter's summary is exactly what I wrote in my notes for it.


	25. No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a town on Corvus that speaks in whispers of a Beskar-covered man who looked at evil and said _no more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and just like that, everything changes...

They landed in almost the exact same spot Din had landed here when he'd arrived with Grogu. Din could feel it, loss and all, and he wondered if this was the _force sensitivity_ his Armorer had mentioned several planets ago.

If it was, he imagined someone who was completely in tune with it would go mad without training.

He'd done the right thing, but the loss was still _right there_ all of the sudden.

He strapped the spear to his back for good measure.

Paz had taken one look at Din in his armor with the spear on his back and darksaber on his hip and snorted. Peli had given a warning _oi_ and that had been that.

“What now?” Cara asked.

“We walk,” Din said like it was obvious.

And so, they started walking.

–

Din was drawn to damp planets, Cara was sure of it. Nevarro, Sorgan, now this one. All different types of damp.

Why, though? It was easier to track someone over wet ground than sandy ground. The tactical advantages it gave were also given to anyone else who might be blending in with the foliage.

Maybe it was something primal calling out in his blood, begging him to let the water in the air touch his skin.

She was never going to understand that man.

She was, however, going to get tired of walking because it seemed Din was incapable of traveling with pilots who believed in actually docking at their destination.

–

At the city's gates, two guards called down from the top of the wall and Din's stomach _sank_.

What if nothing had changed?

“Wait,” one of the guards said, “It's him! Open the gates, it's him!”

Din debated running the other way and never finding out how he'd impacted these people; he'd only changed their lives because their tyrant was in the way of Din getting what he wanted.

Not exactly honorable or altruistic.

Still, when the gates opened and Peli and Cara nudged him forward at the same time – they had to have planned that – he walked into the town like he wasn't still debating running the other way.

They walked down the town's main street together. Whispers followed them and people ran off and came back with more a few blocks later.

By the time they got to that cursed estate, it seemed like almost the entire town was waiting at the gates.

“It _is_ you,” a woman with burn scars consistent with being in one of those torture cages said as she stepped forward and grabbed one of Din's gloved hands with both of hers, “It's really you,” then louder, “It's him, it's our liberator!” 

Two small children rushed out of the crowd, giggling, pulling at Din's other hand with their tiny hands and chattering so fast that Din couldn't understand a word of it.

He realized, belatedly, that he'd seen these two before. They'd been terrified to the point of being mute, filthy, and near starving.

Their eyes looked so bright now.

Din swallowed a sob, knowing full well if he let it escape not even his helmet could muffle it.

A man – a man who'd initially looked at him with something just short of genuine hate – stepped out after the children, smiling.

“It is good to see you,” he told Din, “Come, come, bring your friends.”

The children tugged Din along, leading him into the estate.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Peli say, “Oi, friends, that means you, too,” and Din realized she was talking to Paz.

He made a note to actually _talk_ with Paz the next chance he got to corner the man alone.

The estate was unlocked and Din let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Just out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cobb smiling and full of pride.

The estate gardens had been removed and then replaced with gardens full of edible food. The plants were young – understandably – but clearly well taken care of.

“Looks like a lot's changed,” Din decided to say something. His voice cracked at the very end, betrayed how overwhelmed he felt.

He'd left a terrified town and returned to a free one.

And they looked to him as their _liberator._

He took a deep breath to avoid sobbing. It was a shaky thing, an admission that he was just barely holding himself together.

Cobb grabbed his hand and squeezed. Din squeezed back and somewhere behind him he heard a soft, unfamiliar, “Aww.”

The children lead Din – and, in turn, everyone else – around the estate, showed them all the changes the town had made while their parents filled in the details the children left out.

“They believe they have a future now,” their mother told Din, “I believe they have a future, too.”

Din swallowed a few times, tried to find the room in his head to speak without sobbing.

“Children are the future,” Paz came to his rescue, “and they need the space to know that.”

“Space your friend was able to give them,” the father said.

“He seems to be good at that,” Peli said before Paz could say anything else.

“Giving children their futures?” the father asked.

“At making sure there's room for the future,” Peli amended, “For children, but for the rest of us, too.”

“I am not surprised,” the mother smiled as she said it, “Now, come, there is someone who will want to see you.”

–

Din wasn't at all surprised when the Jedi was the one waiting for them.

“You knew we were here,” was all Din said. It wasn't an accusation, but nor was it a question.

“I know many things,” Ahsoka said with a small, clever smile.

“The force?” Cara asked.

“Usually, yes,” Ahsoka looked terribly amused, “But in your case, no. The lot of you make so much noise as you travel that you're impossible to miss.”

“What can I say, loud bunch,” Cara shrugged, “Still, I can see you were expecting us.”

“Hmn,” Ahsoka hummed, “Come, Din, tell me of where Grogu is.”

There was an unspoken _tell me what happened,_ there that made Din wonder if he'd made the wrong choice by not fleeing back to the ship when he'd first had the thought to do so.

Din realized he'd never given her his name and was, quite suddenly, terrified of what else she knew about him.

Still, he followed her where she lead them, knowing full well he needed to tell her everything.

Behind and beside him, the family fell away and his companions were silent save for their footfalls and the rattling of Paz's weaponry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH** _


	26. Skywalker?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their meeting with Ahsoka is shorter than expected.
> 
> Paz is full or surprises.
> 
> The Armorer's already made plans and expects everyone else to keep up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Peli.

Ahsoka lead them to a room with glass walls and an artificial stream running through the middle of it. The ceiling was exposed wood with recessed lighting that lent a calming ambiance that did not fit with the violence the very spirit of the place seemed to remember.

They sat down at a glass table with thin, golden legs that looked like they would not hold up to much force at all. The chairs were not comfortable, but rather designed to keep everyone aware of everything around them. It was a round table, a facade meant to hold space for the idea that anyone invited to sit there was equal to everyone else invited to sit there.

This table and chair set had been in this place a long, long time.

Cobb sat next to Din and Peli sat next to Cobb. Cara sat on Din's other side so the Armor took her seat next to Peli. Paz was the last of them to sit down. He chose the open seat next to the Armorer.

“Are you hungry?” Ahsoka asked.

“Yes,” the Armorer said before anyone else could say anything, “please. If you don't mind.”

Ahsoka offered a small bow and told them, “I will be back in a moment,” before leaving them alone in the room.”

“You?” Cara asked, “Not to be ignorant, but how do you plan on eating whatever she brings back?”

“I never gave her my name,” Din was quick to say, “She knows more about me – all of us probably – then she's going to let on. Be careful, and guard your thoughts as well as you can.”

“Oh no,” Peli breathed.

“Peli?” Cobb asked as everyone shifted to stare at pretty.

Peli held both hands over her mouth, one covering the other, and said nothing for a few measures.

“Peli?” Din tried.

“She's really pretty,” Peli said without removing her hands.

Cobb pinched the bridge of his nose while Din and Cara both had a face-to-palm contact moment. Paz held his palms up with a gesture that meant both _What the fuck?_ and _That's what you're worried about?_ The Armorer sighed and put what was meant to be a comforting hand on Peli's knee, shoulders shaking with silent laughter and undermining and comfort that might have been offered.

When Ahsoka returned with a tray of refreshments, nobody had moved much.

Ahsoka cleared her throat and Peli nearly jumped to hide behind someone – more likely Cobb than her.

“Well,” Ahsoka pretended like nothing was amiss. “I see Grogu is not with you.”

“We found a Jedi,” Din was unaware that his leg started bouncing, “Well, a Jedi found us.”

“Fascinating,” Ahsoka said as she set the tray down in the center of the table and sat down with them.

“The,” Din was almost stammering, “the circle you told me about. I took him there and he...he knew what to do.”

“And so you waited for someone else to show up,” Ahsoka sounded skeptical.

“Well, no,” Din hung his head, “No, we did not.”

Din took a deep breath and started talking. Despite his earlier warning, he seemed to hold back to detail as he recounted everything that happened from the time his old ship was blown to bits to saying goodbye to the child – to _Grogu,_ the Armorer corrected herself – and watching the strange Jedi walk away with his son.

Din exhaled loudly when he was finished his story and rested his forearms on the table and Cobb rested a hand on the middle of Din's upper back – a gesture that lacked tactile sensation for Din entirely but carried a heavy emotional weight for the both of them.

“Did you get his name?” Ahsoka asked, her every feature carefully guarded.

“Give him a moment,” Paz snarled.

“Luke,” Cara was quick to say, “Skywalker. It was Luke Skywalker.”

Ahsoka's eyes went wide and she sat back as far in her chair as she could.

“Skywalker,” Ahsoka said, “You're sure?”

“Absolutely,” Cara nodded before explaining that she'd followed Princess Leia closely as one of their homeworld's few survivors, so when it came to be known that the guy who blew up not one but _two_ Death Stars was also the twin brother of Cara's princess and one of the last remnants of their homeworld the galaxy had, she mad a point to memorize both their faces.

Was Din capable of finding people who were not haunted by losses so great they shattered lesser beings?

“Skywalker,” Ahsoka said again, “Did he say where he was going?”

“No,” Din shook his head.

“Probably safer that way,” Ahsoka's shoulders fell just a tiny bit, “Well, it's been lovely, but I have to,” she stood up, “I have to go find – I have to – there's – good luck.”

And with that, she was gone.

After several moments of communal staring at the door she left from, Peli broke the silence with a muttered, “Still pretty.”

The Armorer, at a loss, patted Peli on the knee twice.

–

They'd decided their best course of action was to move on to the next planet.

The walk back to the ship was a slow venture – partly because they were all in some sort of shock and partly because the entire town seemed to want to see them off.

The two kids who'd lead them around the estate also lead them out of town, both pulling at Din. It made Cobb smile, the way the kids _adored_ Din.

When Din proved to not go as fast at they wanted, one moved onto Paz and the other on to the Armorer to see if either of them could be hurried along. And one of both of them might have, had the crowds not been so think in the streets and moving with them that anything but a slow walk was impossible.

The kid who grabbed Paz's wrist with both hands was lifted off the ground. Before Cobb could shout not to hurt the kid, Paz put the kid back down. The kid laughed and tugged again and Paz lifted the kid again. It was a slow, controlled thing and Paz was _looking at_ the kid to make sure they had a steady grip.

The other kid let go of the Armorer and grabbed onto Paz's gun in the same way their sibling had grabbed onto Paz's wrist.

“Whoa,” Paz was quick to remove the child from his gun and affix said child to the same wrist as their sibling and lift them both off the ground together, a quick distraction so neither child asked why they couldn't swing off a weapon bigger than they were.

Cobb took a minute to really stare at the sight of two children – two children who'd grown up under a tyrant – who took one look at a Mandalorian _warrior_ and decided that because Paz looked vaguely like Din that Paz, too, was entirely safe to be around.

The covert had children, Cobb remembered, children the entire community took care of, children the entire community raised.

Including Paz.

It was an odd thought that didn't fit with the Paz that Cobb knew at all, but the past several days had comprised of little _but_ surprises.

When they finally, finally, got to the gates, the mother and father both put a hand on Din's shoulder and said one last _thank you_ before the town was ushered back behind the gates.

_If you have the safety measures in place,_ Cobb thought as the gate closed, _why not use them?_

–

“Where to now?” Peli asked as soon as they were back on the ship.

“Supplies,” the Armorer told her, “and then we go to a planet I think will have many things to say about Din and Cara.”

“And?” Peli asked.

“Sorgan,” Din and Cara said in unison.

Neither of them sounded too excited about that.

“There are going to be Imps there,” Cara said.

“There are going to be Imps everywhere,” the Armorer called over her shoulder, “We've already blown any hope of secrecy we had wide open.”

Cara could argue, but that didn't mean she didn't _want_ to argue.

It had been months since she'd left Sorgan to help Din and his kid the first time. She feared not being able to recognize the planet, the fear she was usually to quiet telling her the Imperials had taken it over when she hadn't been looking and the people's subjugation would be entirely her fault because _she hadn't been there._

“Alright,” Cara did the exact opposite of arguing, “supplies and then Sorgan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, they, uh, everybody tried.


	27. A Baited Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On towards Sorgan. Supplies are obtained. Cara recognizes the description of cut wires at the new covert. Cobb and Paz have something that resembles a conversation. Din really _feels_ the weight of being a leader. Peli's a fantastic mechanic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another in-transit chapter? You betchya! That's where like, 65% of the plot happens!

The supply run had been the most mundane supply run Cara had ever been on; that there could be something that even tried to approach boring during this part of her life was another surprise less the universe had for her.

They'd found a planet whose entire economy had been based around traders coming to sell their wares for a fraction of the fees other ports charged.

The money was made, Cara figured, based on the sheer volume of traders looking to maximize their profits.

They'd gotten water and food and and blankets and new clothes for everyone – she wasn't sure when the Armorer and Paz were going to wear theirs, but she also wasn't going to ask – as well as some little luxuries like sweets and the ship's water tank refilled entirely.

Cara was absolutely having a proper shower when she got back on board.

At one point Cobb has slipped off for a few minutes and returned grinning. Upon seeing him, Din grinned, too.

“They think they're subtle,” the Armorer had said so quietly only Cara and Peli heard. All three of them laughed and Din and Cobb gave them a _What?_ look, which only made them laugh harder.

It amazed Cara how well they got along, the three of them; for as much as she didn't trust the Armorer, she was genuinely funny and incredibly brilliant. 

Seeing Din walk around in clearly borrowed clothes, face and hands and even some of his shoulders exposed was no less jarring every time Cara saw him.

She and Cobb and Din and Peli ordered fresh-cooked food and ate it crammed together at the restaurant's little bar while Paz and the Armorer went to look for supplies that Cara suspected were weapons.

It was the first hot meal Cara hadn't cooked for herself in weeks, and damned if she was going to let a luxury like that be postponed by something she could buy after dinner.

All and all, it had been _nice._ Cara had forgotten what it felt like to just _be a person,_ and she absolutely relished in the reminder.

“First call on the shower,” Cara called out and raised her hand as soon as they all got back on the ship.

“Shower?” Peli, Cobb, and Paz asked at the same time.

“Second thought,” Cara put her hand down, “There's two showers, you three figure it out amongst yourselves who gets first go.”

“It may need to run for a little bit to get the filtration system back online,” the Armorer pointed out.

Cara hadn't thought of that. She sucked her teeth, disappointed at her lack of foresight. 

“Come,” the Armorer said to Cara, “We'll go get the filtration system running. The rest of you, supplies away and _don't tough the showers until we give you the go-ahead._.”

Cara had to take a few jogging steps to catch up with the Armorer.

“You think it's going to be a problem?” Cara asked.

“I think if it is, we're going to be the only two who've seen a filtration system before,” the Armorer told her.

“Fair point,” Cara conceded.

“Peli might be able to figure it out given the time,” the Armorer kept talking.

“Yeah?” Cara wanted to know as much of what the Armorer knew as possible.

“The new covert,” the Armorer explained to her, “It's apparently in some sort of disused listening station. Peli was able to piece together more about it and how to repair the cut wires than the rest of us had in months.”

“Cut wires?” is sounded entirely too familiar to Cara, but she couldn't quite place it.

“Just clean cut apparently,” the Armorer elaborated, “No sections removed or anything of that sort.”

“Hold up,” Cara stopped walking, “You said this was a disused listening station?”

“Yes,” the Armorer stopped a few paces ahead of Cara, “Why?”

“That's an old Empire trick,” Cara felt the blood drain from her face, “Make a building look like it had been entirely abandoned onto to have those locations flagged as _places to monitor for signals_ and they'd just...nobody ever stood a chance to get out alive.”

The Armorer was running the other direction before Cara finished her sentence.

–

Before Paz could ask what was happening, Din had taken off after the Armorer in one direction and Peli had run _towards_ whatever the Armorer had been running _from_.

“I'm not sure which direction to run,” Paz admitted out loud.

“She's either brave or stupid,” Cobb muttered, staring the the direction Peli had ran.

“You know her better,” Paz wasn't sure which word he'd pick, either.

“You've known her longer,” Cobb shook his head, “I'm both curious what's happening and think I'd live better not knowing.”

“No?” Paz unhooked his weapons so he could shed the dead weight while they were in the air, “Never been to Tatooine before.” He hung his weapons on a hastily rigged series of hooks near the ship's ramp so he could grab them the next time he left the ship.

“Sure, but you came to Mos Pelgo with her,” Cobb told him, “I've never seen her before then.”

“But you two get on so well,” Paz wasn't convinced Cobb was telling him the truth.

“She's a child of the desert and she's never tried to bring me any harm,” Cobb shrugged, “People like her...they're hard not to get along with. Hard in all the places they need to be, and still so human despite everything.”

Paz could see where Cobb was coming from.

They stood there for a while, dumbfound, unable to make a decision about which direction seemed more urgent.

“Well,” Paz cleared his throat. “I still don't know which direction to run, so I'm going to go to the cockpit and wait for any internal transmissions to give me some direction.”

“Paz,” Cobb said as soon as Paz had turned away from him.

Despite every instinct telling him to do otherwise, Paz froze and waited for Cobb to say something else.

“What is Din?” Cobb asked, “To you, I mean, what is Din?”

“Don't,” Paz clenched his jaw.

“I'm not out for a fight,” there was a surrender in Cobb's voice Paz could feel without even looking behind him, “I just want to know.”

“No,” Paz shook his head, “No, you don't.”

“We've been traveling like this for _days_ and this is the first time you and I have been alone,” Cobb told him, “I just want to know.”

Paz shook his head again. He felt like a child throwing a tantrum, but he was _not_ having this conversation.

“Look, I'm going to have a similar talk with Din,” Cobb sounded like he might reach out and physically try to stop Paz is Paz tried to walk away now, “but before I do that, I need to know: What is he to you?”

“Why?” Paz had a feeling he'd regret asking.

“Din...Din's managed to wedge himself into more parts of my life than I ever expected anyone to,” Cobb sounded too honest for Paz to want to continue this conversation, “but I'd be deluding myself if I didn't recognize the way he looks at you when he things no one's looking.”

Paz snarled and whirled around, but managed to stop himself from pulling a knife or taking a swing.

Cobb was standing only inched away, arms crossed and looking generally unimpressed. 

“Don't you dare,” Paz warned Cobb, “Don't you _dare_ do this to me, too.”

Paz stalked off before Cobb could say anything else.

–

Cara wasn't sure when to let Cobb know she's heard almost everything.

Shortly after Cobb exhaled so loudly it echoed seemed like as good a time as any.

“Good man,” she said to alert him that she was standing right there.

Cobb made a loud, startled noise and whirled around to face her.

“Cara,” he sounded relieved, “What happened?”

“Seems the covert is in danger,” Cara explained, “Well, might be.”

“The wires?” Cobb guessed.

“As a symptom of it, yeah,” Cara nodded, “I recognize the trap. So long as they didn't connect them or get any of the listening tech up and running, they'll be fine, though.”

“Good,” Cobb sounded like he had no idea what any of that involved, “That would explain why Din hasn't come back, at least.”

“Where'd he go?” Cara asked.

“Ran after the Armorer,” Cobb sighed, “Where's Peli?”

“Actually working on the filtration system,” Cara told him, “Do I honestly seem like someone that could fix a filtration system?”

Cobb looked her up and down twice before he said, “No, not really.”

Cara decided she was keeping Cobb alive at all costs, if for no other reason than his brand of honesty was so rarely found anymore.

“You mean it, though,” Cara forgot to tell him she was starting another conversation entirely, “You'd share Din?”

Cobb went silent for a moment before he said, “If it's what Din wants.”

“What about you?” Cara crossed her arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall.

“Before this I'd never thought I'd even step foot on another planet,” Cobb joined her in the wall leaning, “Never thought I'd be...that I'd be ricocheting across the stars with _three_ Mandalorians trying to figure out what their King is supposed to be doing with himself.”

Cara made sure her face conveyed that she wasn't impressed with how much effort Cobb was putting into avoiding the question.

“I don't want Din to feel like he has to shut off a part of himself to keep me around,” Cobb avoided eye contact as he said it, “It's all new to me.”

Cara was sure a lot of Cobb's current situation was new to him, but now wasn't the time to drill him for those sorts of specifics.

“Paz and Din though?” Cara asked, “Seems to me they couldn't get on if somebody paid them.”

“Eh,” Cobb shrugged, “They're...they're handling everything different, but Paz would tear the foundation of universe itself apart if it meant keeping Din safe.”

“You really think so?” Cara let her arms drop to her sides.

Cobb made eye contact as he told her, “I think the fact he'd do that scares the hell out of him and he's doing everything he can to not have to face the fact Din's not only alive and King but _here and with him_.”

“Hold up,” Cara crossed her arms again, “What?”

Cobb told her what had to have been a very abbreviated version of events from Din showing up in Mos Pelgo a second time to everyone else's arrival to how Paz and the Armorer had both been acting around Din.

“Huh,” Cara said, “Well, at least I know where he went now.”

Cobb looked at Cara like he was just now considering there was someone _there_ with Din at the very end of Din's time with his kid that actually cared about Din and not some twisted version of honor or debt that bound them to Din until certain conditions were met.

“Peace,” Cobb said abruptly, “I want _peace_ on this ship and I don't think we're going to get it with Paz being set off by everything.”

“And you think having him and Din be a thing would bring peace to the ship?” Cara raised her eyebrows.

“I think being honest about it would bring peace to Paz,” Cobb corrected, “and in turn, the ship. I'll grant you all of us – save Peli – probably have a few things not quite right about us, I'm not saying Paz is the only one with problems, just that he's...got a lot of it pointed out at the rest of us.”

Cobb told her about the sparring that the Armorer had to put a stop to, about how Paz was so hot-and-cold with everything about Din, how when they'd gone to the covert Paz _guarded_ Din even when the Armorer wasn't there and how obvious that guarding had been when they regrouped.

“Everyone on this ship's full of surprises,” Cara shook her head.

“I know it's barely my business,” Cobb said as he stood up straight again, “but I feel like I need to _make it_ my business.”

“Just,” Cara clapped a hand on Cobb's shoulder, “Just make sure you're not tossing yourself to the side, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cob nodded, “yeah.”

The second yeah had an understanding riding with it that made Cara feel a little better.

–

Din had heard the entirety of the Armorer's call back to the covert – hell, she'd left the door unlocked and only glanced up at him when he entered.

The covert had been in danger.

“You manage to gather all the right people,” the Armorer told him once the call was over.

Cara had saved the covert.

From _lightyears_ away, Cara – who'd watched as Din tried to stay behind in the ruins of his old covert – had saved the one he'd only just found out he had with a single sentence.

Din was so relieved that his head felt like it might spin.

The Armorer tugged his wrist, telling him to _sit down_ without words.

He did.

The panic overtook him before he realized it was even there.

He couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

“So help me,” the Armorer yanked his helmet off, “I've cleaned enough vomit out of children's helmets these past months I am _not_ cleaning it out of yours.”

“I'm not,” Din managed to say, “What?”

“Turns out moving coverts is stressful for the children,” the Armor tried to say lightly but it came out tense instead, “Now lean forward and _breathe!_ ” she urged him.

As she was walking Din through the panic, Paz let himself in.

“Hey, what-OhNevermindI'llBeBackLater.”

“Paz Vizsla you will show some _decorum_ ,” the Armorer barked and Paz turned back around slowly and wedged himself in so he could sit on the only open spot in the holo call closet – the seat next to Din.

“How did you,” Paz started asking as Din stopped taking gulps of air and started taking something more like normal breaths, “Just your helmet?”

“Holo call to the covert,” the Armorer explained for Din.

“Ah,” was all Paz said, “The covert?”

The Armorer caught Paz up on what had transpired while Din shook and shook between them.

“I'm not ready for this,” Din was leaning forward with his arms over his head, “One emergency and I'm...” he trailed off.

“It's been so much more than that,” the Armorer told him.

Those seven words broke something inside Din so hard that _Paz_ could feel it.

“One moment,” Paz excused himself and slipped out before the Armorer could say anything to stop him.

–

Din needed Cobb.

Paz knew this as he tore through the ship trying to find the man.

Finding Cobb was an accident; they collided as they rounded a corner in opposite directions.

“We're all going to need to start wearing bells or something,” Cobb grimaced and he rubbed his shoulder where Paz's armor had hit him.

“Din needs you,” Paz told him.

“Where?” Cobb so clearly was ready to run, so Paz ran.

They all but skidded to a stop outside the holo call – well, they'd be hard pressed to call it a room, it was more like a closet – but anyways, they were there and Din was still panicking and as soon as Cobb saw him he was _right there_ in front of Din, their foreheads touching and Cobb had Din's hands in his, muttering things that Paz couldn't understand but were so clearly breaking through the renewed panic and _reaching_ Din.

The Armorer kept a hand on Din's back – ungloved, Paz noticed, and he shoved the shock somewhere in his head where he could deal with it later – and Paz realized what Din needed was _touch._

Paz noticed he was shaking, too, as he sat next to Din again and removed a glove so he could put a bare hand on the small of Din's back.

Paz couldn't remember the last time he'd felt another person under his palm. Din was _warm_ even through his shirt and Paz let himself feel this shock that was _human warmth._

Paz had no idea how long the four of them stayed like that before Peli came in.

“Filtration's good to, oh, are we hugging?” She slipped in behind Paz somehow – lithe thing that Peli was – and leaned her front over Din's back and let her arms dangle forward, the uppermost parts of her arms supported by Din's shoulders and both his and the Armorer's hands sandwiched between Peli and Din.

They stayed like that for a while, let Din come back to himself before they even began pulling back so he could sit up.

Peli slid off first so neither Paz or the Armorer would have to yank their hands off Din. Paz withdrew when he saw the Armorer start to pull her hand back.

Cobb and Din stayed with their foreheads touching.

Peli slipped out, giving Cobb a solid squeeze on his shoulder before she slipped out of the room.

The Armorer left next, giving Din and Cobb both a squeeze on their shoulders before putting her glove back on and slipping out as well.

“I'm sorry,” Din whispered.

“You didn't do anything wrong,” Paz realized he really believed that as he said it.

Paz sat with them a while, his hand still on the small of Din's back as Din told Cobb what happened.

“I just,” Din chewed on his lower lip for a moment before he finished talking, “I feel so _useless_ all the way out here.”

“You can't do everything,” Cobb was quick to say, “Nobody can do everything.”

“I didn't do _anything,_ ” Din ran his hands through his hair.

“You didn't have to,” Cobb's voice was so gentle that Paz felt genuine awe, “And if you'd been the one to hear the covert was in danger, you would have acted just as fast.”

“I like to think I would,” Din sounded like he was trying to pull himself together.

“You would have,” Paz told him, “We protect each other, the whole covert.”

Din made a little _hmnf_ sound and Paz's fingers flexed involuntarily to apply a little more pressure to the small of Din's back.

“Come on,” Paz nudged Din and Cobb to their feet and out of the room without taking his hand off Din;s back, “Sounds like the filtration system's online, and whatever a shower is, Din, think _you've_ been volunteered for first go.”

Cobb flanked Din on the other side, Din's hand gripped in one hand, their arms tangled together. Paz wondered if **his** prolonged contact with Din had wandered into _selfish_ territory.

“Second,” Cara said as she passed them, her hair soaked and her clothes fresh, “Oh, shit, Din,” she stopped walking for a moment. Cara looked at Din, then at Paz, then at Cobb, then at Din again, “Glad you're in good hands,” she told Din and kept walking in an attempt to give them something resembling privacy.

She looked _refreshed_ in a way that Paz had never seen in someone who's used, well, a refresher.

“I,” Din sounded _exhausted_ , “Yeah, shower...yeah.”

“Go on,” Paz took a step away from Din so Cobb could have Din to himself, “Enjoy whatever it is.”

Paz took the long way back to his quarters, Cobb's _What is Din to you?_ echoing in his head over and over.

There'd been a hole in Paz's life when Din had gone missing and the Armorer hadn't even told him Din was still alive.

Paz couldn't deal with that hole being ripped into him again.

_What is Din, to you?_

_My anchor,_ Paz realized.

That truth terrified him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was...actually a lot.
> 
> Nobody asked for nearly 3.5K of Paz pulling his head out his ass, but here we are!


	28. Not Unlike a Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone arrives on Sorgan. Omera is caught up to speed. The village welcomes everyone as if they were one of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's baaaaa-aaaaack!!!

Peli had been kicked out of the cockpit.

She pretended to put up a fight but really, Cara seemed to know what she was doing when it came to both flying and landing and if she wanted to land the thing, Peli was going to let her.

Still, the cockpit was starting to feel like _hers._

Din, Paz, and the Armorer were standing at the ramp and checking their weapons, waiting to open it until Cara finished landing.

“You think you're going to need those?” Peli asked.

“I hope not,” Din told her, “but I'd rather be overly careful.”

Something sent a chill through Peli.

Cobb joined them, blasted holstered to his side and jacket zipped up.

“Don't tell me it's going to be cold,” Peli eyes Cobb.

“I won't then,” Cobb grinned.

Peli sighed and steeled herself for the pending cold.

–

Cara managed to park much closer to the village than they'd parked to the town on Corvus.

Sure, there would be a lot of walking throughout the village once they got there, but is was the principle of the thing. 

She waved her arms over her head as soon as the first villagers came into view.

“Omera!” Cara's voice echoed.

A child's shriek of joy answered her.

“Was that Winta?” Din asked.

“I think so,” Cara was genuinely smiling.

–

Omera greeted them on the outskirts of her village with a small group of villagers behind her.

“Omera,” Cara hugged her, “It's so good to see you.”

“You came back,” Omera returned the hug, “And you,” her attention turned to Din, “Have you come to see out favorite protector back?”

“Favorite protector?” Din asked.

“Oh,” Cara was still smiling, “I might have taught some other villages how to fight as well and there may have been some other pockets of Imperial-backed raiders that aren't a problem any more.”

“Fascinating,” the Armorer said loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Come,” Omera waved everyone towards the village proper.

Winta grabbed Cara's hand and tugged Cara forward, to the front of the group and then tried to tug her faster.

“Easy there kiddo,” Cara laughed, “I'm coming, I'm coming.”

“Greef would be having a field day,” Din informed her.

“Well, he chose to stay,” Cara called over her shoulder, “What? Like I didn't know you ran into him at the market. It's my city.”

“Yes, yes,” Omera teased Cara, “Your city with your new fancy job.”

“Who'd've thought the shock trooper that came here to escape her past would wind up with a desk job for the New Republic,” one of the villagers joined the friendly teasing.

“I knew,” Omera smiled, “Your love for the Republic wins out over your desire to hide from its fledgling rules.”

“I wouldn't call it love,” Cara was quick to say.

“What would you call it, then?” Omera asked.

“Hope for freedom,” Cara's smile faded for a moment before it came back.

–

They were lead to Omera's hut where everyone sat in a haphazard circle on the floor.

“Food will be here soon,” Omera told them, “You three, though, if you wish to take your meals in private, we can -”

Din took off his helmet, shook his head, and looked at Omera.

“Private,” Paz raised his hand like it helped get the point across.

The Armorer pressed her thumb and forefinger to her helmet where her forehead would have been.

“They're your mess,” Cara leaner over to say to the Armorer.

“I am aware,” the Armorer sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

Paz put his hand down.

“So tell me,” the corners of Omera's mouth were quirked upward, a nearly reigned-in smile, “what brings you back here?”

Everyone looked at Din.

Din sighed and started recounting the key events that lead him back to the first planet he'd tried to hide on with Grogu.

–

Cobb's heart hurt for Din as he realized Din was going to have to tell the story every time they met another one of his allies. He'd noticed the story got shorter each time, details cut out here and there.

Cobb did his best to hold onto the ones Din cut away; those were the ones that hurt worse than the others to say aloud, Cobb reasoned, and those most likely to pick at Din the most when Din was alone with his thoughts.

–

“It's good to see you again,” Omera said to Cara when they were finally, finally alone.

“It's good to see you,” Cara held Omera tight, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Omera held Cara's head against her chest, “Are you happy?”

“It's a different kind of happy,” Cara told her.

Omera stroked Cara's hair and Cara wrapped her arms around Omera's waist. They stood there for a while, in the dark of Omera's hut, taking each other in like it could close up the the gap from the last time they saw each other and now.

–

In the privacy of a hut whose owner, the Armorer was assured, was helping another krill farming village and would not be back for several days, she finally removed her helmet so she could eat.

The food had gone cold, but she was used to that; unless she cooked it herself – and by herself – her food was always cold.

The warmth of whoever cooked it was still there though, a love of their village and people alive seeped into the food so deeply that even time could not remove it.

The shortened version of events Din had told Omera and the people Omera brought into the hut was, well, shortened. He left out large chunks and nearly skipped Trask altogether save for mentioning that was where he found other Mandalorians.

Omera had stared at Cara the entire time Din was talking, and Cara had stared back at her.

_They think they're subtle,_ she smiled to herself as she took another bite of dinner.

–

Paz sat behind a thick curtain while he ate. He knew Din and Cobb were on the other side – so was Peli, he was fairly sure of it – but he realized he _trusted _them to not disturb him until he came out from behind the curtain himself.__

__Night had fallen and the hut was lit with glass lanterns filled with tiny bioluminescent bugs. The tops of the glasses were open, he noticed; the bugs were not captive._ _

__Probably fed in the jars, Paz realized, voluntary nighttime light sources that lent a softness to the atmosphere._ _

__He also did not want to be far from Din, not so soon after Din broke like that._ _

__Not that he'd say as much out loud._ _

__“Looks like they have some sort of game here,” Cobb's voice chased the silence away rather than broke it._ _

__“Let's see,” Din said. There was some shuffling and a soft _ah_ and a thump of something heavy but hollow on the floor._ _

__“Wonder how it's played,” Cobb sounded like he was rustling through whatever parts the game they'd found had._ _

__“I can go find someone,” Peli sounded further away._ _

__“I'm wide awake,” Cobb said, “Paz, you good with someone else coming in?”_ _

__Paz didn't reply right away; he hadn't expected to be considered like this._ _

__The thought of a stranger in the room when he was without his helmet, even with the curtain separating him from everyone else._ _

__“I'd like to finish eating first,” Paz told them._ _

__There were some footsteps and then Peli said, “Sure thing.” She sounded much closer this time._ _

__Paz was glad he decided to trust them._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My word processor kept changing 'Omera' to 'Omega' and a part of me is terrified I missed one.


	29. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone discovers another Imperial-backed band of raiders, this one much further from Omera's village than anyone was prepared to haul war supplies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a short one – a set-up for the next handful of chapters that needs to stand on its own.

Paz had _almost_ forgotten how much he disliked sleeping in strange places.

They'd stayed up until the sun had risen, the four of them and a couple of strangers, playing the game Cobb had found. The mechanics were fairly simple: it involved a whole bunch of very small bones and strangely cut dice with harsh gashes as counters instead of dots or numbers and trying to pull a successful win by bullshitting everyone else.

You threw three of the dice in the air, caught them, read the number to yourself, and took a number of bones greater or equal to the total of your dice. If someone called your bluff, you had to reveal your dice and, if you'd tried to take more than the number you'd tossed, you had to give up _all_ of your bones you'd collected on previous rounds.

The game was over when all of the bones had been claimed.

Peli was a fantastic liar and had won nearly every round. Din has spent most of the night practically in Cobb's lap.

Still, Paz couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much _fun_ for the sake of having fun.

Morning came too early.

“Up, up, up!” Cara was marching through the hut and clapping her hands with each _up._

“No,” Peli refused from what sounded like the middle of the room.

“Up!” Cara said again, louder, “Everybody up!”

“Why?” Cobb asked.

“Imps!” Cara told everyone, “Imps, five villages over!”

“I meant _why are you like this,_ ” Cobb groaned, “But okay, fine, fine, I'm up, what can I do?”

“We're mobilizing,” Din muttered, “Alright, we're up, what exactly are we dealing with?”

“At least three walkers,” Cara said, “Your standard clone armor, blasters, we're hoping nothing more.”

“So we dig,” Din already had his armor on.

“We've done this once before,” Cara said as she shrugged on something that looked like armor of her own only much lighter and more flexible, “Omera, what you got?”

“Way more than last time,” Omera was also shrugging something like armor on. 

“You've been training,” it sounded like a compliment coming from Cara.

“It's the smart thing to do,” Omera replied.

Paz wondered what, exactly, was about to happen as he made sure his gun was securely attached to the rest of his armor.

–

On the walk to the village Cara and Omera were ready to defend, Din and Cara filled everyone else in on what they needed to do: dig, lay traps, and be ready to fight like hell once the raiders had been lured into a fight.

“How do the same tactics keep working?” the Armorer asked when they were done explaining the plan.

“They're desperate,” Omera explained, “and if you engage them in a fight, they'll chase you for _days_ to see it to its end.”

“Bloodbound,” the Armorer said.

“What?” Din asked.

“It's,” the Armorer paused, “Old. I've only heard it in stories, but if these are the same people, once blood had been shed, the fight dies not end on one side has shed _all_ its blood.”

“That would make reusing the same plan of attack easy,” Peli assessed.

“Don't take this the wrong way,” Cara said to Peli, “but what are you doing here?”

“Carrying my weight,” Peli said it like it was an argument she'd been having with herself.

–

When they arrived at the village, they were greeted by dozens of terrified villages clutching shovels and nets and ropes. 

Despite the fear in their eyes, they stood tall and proud, ready to defend their village.

Din started assigning people to places and tasks while Cara and Omera looked over the improvised weapons, sharpening large sticks to a point and mending weak points in nets and rope.

Cara and Omera, the Armorer could tell, had done this together before. They didn't talk while they worked, simply noticed the subtle ways in which the other shifted and _knew_ how to compensate, knew what gaps they needed to fill.

Din, meanwhile, was commanding this rag-tag assembly of aspiring soldiers like he'd been doing it his entire life.

She'd never seen Din like this: ready to lead and so sure of himself that if he'd given _her_ an order, she was sure she'd follow it without question.

–

They were ready for battle.

Cobb hadn't expected to need to be ready for battle in this trip, but he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised; Mandalorians were, at their core, a people whose identity was formed on their being warriors.

Cobb had been _given the duty_ of herding the children and elderly away from the village and away from where the fighting would take place. 

He felt a little bit like a coward, but he also knew that he didn't have any armor and from what everyone had described his single blaster was more than useless.

So why had Peli stayed near the front lines?

He tried not to think too hard on that.

–

Paz hated running.

Sure, he and Din could be in the air right now, but those they wanted to draw out were very much earth-bound and seemed to flag a bit when their query was too far ahead.

And they were the ones with the Beskar.

Paz mentally cursed the Armorer for finding a way to get out of running alongside them.

–

“There they are!” Cara's voice boomed as soon as she spotted Paz and Din in the clearing, “Everyone, hold your positions!”

Peli was gripping her end of the rope she'd pull when the signal was given. She was nervous, but there was a this adrenaline running through her that made her nerves more than bearable.

“Hold!” Cara yelled, “Hold!”

Peli held her breath.

And then something shifted. Peli felt it just before the Armorer screamed, “FALL BACK!”

“Everybody, fall back, get out of the water!” Cara was screaming, “Everyone, back, retreat to dry land!”

The same tactics, Peli realized, weren't going to work this time.

She wondered what was about to go so horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I really ending my writing for the day and making y'all wait for the next chapter like this?
> 
> Yes. Yes I am.


	30. Scattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pattern fails to hold and everyone's lives are suddenly in jeopardy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here. We. GO!

“Hand held electric cannons!” the Armorer's voice sounded raw from screaming, “Out of the water, everybody, out, OUT!”

“But the traps,” someone shouted back, their voice drowned by the sounds of blaster fire and the walkers' giant metal joints creaking as they marched onward.

“Traps are no good of their operators are dead,” the Armorer barked, “Fall back and regroup and we'll figure out a way to do this on dry land!”

She was lying to them; there wasn't going to be enough time to regroup, she knew this, but maybe – just maybe – if she could get the villagers to dry lands, the losses could be minimized.

After all, three Mandalorians and a Cara – and likely a Peli, Peli wasn't one to walk away no matter the odds – were going to make for a battle which stories of the villagers' children's children were going to grow up on.

Din and Paz were in the air – Paz wasn't firing his gun, which meant he had already discovered the machine hulls weren't bothered by incendiary or fragmentation rounds.

Din was wielding the darksaber, though, which meant blaster fire was also useless.

There was a murmuring and a sudden, impossible stillness that signaled she was not the only one transfixed by the sight of it.

Din was not a swordsman – no Mandalorian the Armorer had ever _met_ was a swordsman – but it seemed all he needed to do with the darksaber was _swing it and not hit himself_ and it was...

...it was terrifying.

A shriek reminded her how badly she had just failed the people she was trying to evacuate.

The first enemy carrying an electric cannon had hit the water and fired. One man had gone down and three more had taken his place, two to drag him away and one to take the enemy on in hand-to-hand – well, stick-to-miniature-cannon – combat.

It was over in a matter of second – enemy impaled on a stick, farmer now without a stick.

The Armorer needed to get moving.

She took off towards the incoming enemy, water be damned.

–

The farmers were following the Armorer's charge.

“Shit,” Cara hissed.

“Let's go,” Omera was already running after everyone.

Cara feared she had returned to Sorgan – to Omera – just in time to witness the end of everything all over again.

–

Paz needed a weapon.

His gun was useless and he didn't have, well, the darksaber was a thing of horror and raw power in person, and he certainly didn't have anything of that caliber on him.

There was one Din and one darksaber and three walkers.

Paz tried to keep the two Din wasn't currently cutting through distracted by keeping their sights on him.

If Din cut any of the walkers the wrong way, the pieces would fall on the villagers and whatever losses they were facing would be even heavier.

–

Even from the woods, Cobb could hear the screams and the blasting.

The children were crying.

He was crying.

He should have been there.

–

“Ropes!” Peli tried to force her voice to be lour enough to be heard, “If you're still able, grab the ropes!”

One walker was down and one Din was currently making quick work of, but that left the one that was currently just shy of one of the traps.

Villagers nearby rushed to start grabbing ropes. Peli hoped harder than she'd ever hoped for anything that this was going to work.

–

Two down, one to go.

Din was panting, exhausted already but he knew he couldn't slow down, couldn't afford a single mistake.

Blaster fire was starting to come in from the back lines of raiders.

Where _did_ they keep getting all this weaponry?

Din turned towards the last walker, darksaber extended and focus entirely on the weakest point in its plating.

–

Din was flying.

Not the normal, controlled flying Cara was used to seeing, but absolutely spinning out of control with no sign of the darksaber.

“What-” Cara started to ask.

The ground under her feet started to shake as she learned that the walkers had a _faster_ option.

The smell of blood and burning and smolder filled her nostrils. All around her, bodies of farmers and raiders alike floated in the shallow water.

“Oh no,” she breathed.

–

He could save Din or the village.

Paz hadn't had time to decide.

He hadn't really needed it decide.

Din.

Din, every time.

–

Even from the ground, the Armorer heard Din and Paz collide in the air, the Beskar-on-Beskar _clang_ a horrible thing.

Paz managed to dislodge Din's jetpack, let the thing do what it would, and bring Din back to the battle.

“Get out of the water,” the Armor screamed at them.

Din staggered but then stood up straight, his focus entirely on the last walker.

Where was Din's spear? He'd had it when he left.

If Din lost his spear, his jetpack, _and_ the darksaber in the course of one battle, the entire future of the Mandalorians was over.

–

Din managed to dig his spear out of the mud – he'd let it drop the instant his jetpack had been hit so he only had to focus on keeping one weapon in his hand – and turned back towards the last Walker.

“What are you doing?” Paz asked.

“If I can,” Din planted his feet in the mud, “if I can hit its engine, it might...”

“You're need to fly the spear directly into it and push it through to hit the engine like that,” Paz told him.

Din jerked a thumb as the space where his jetpack had been.

“Fair,” Paz said as he yanked the spear from Din's hand and elbowed Din into the mud.

–

Peli saw what was about to happen and started shouting for everyone to clear.

If Paz was doing what she thought she was doing, the blast was going to be a danger to everyone on the ropes.

–

The funny thing about Beskar: the only thing that could damage it was more Beskar. 

And the funny thing about Din's bounty Paz had been willing to kill Din over: it made enough pure Beskar armor for the both of them.

Paz gripped the spear as hard as he could and braced for impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, this story is halfway done, chapter-wise!
> 
> Yes, it's another cliffhanger, I know; this is probably bordering on cruel. It'll be worth it, I promise.


	31. Among the Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the battle is over, Din tears the wreckage apart to try to find Paz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooboi I really did finish that last chapter and skip off to work, didn't I?

It was an easy battle once the last walker exploded.

The wreckage, between the fire and the shrapnel, took out almost all of the raiders that were left. Some farmers, too, who hadn't heeded the orders to get to dry ground, the bodies of friend and foe alike littering the ground.

Din drew his blaster and helped take out anyone who remained; if the Armorer was right, the raiders wouldn't retreat.

The Armorer was _there_ and then gone again, rushing forward with hammer and hook to speed up the end of the battle.

Watching the Armorer fight was almost more art than violence; every single move she made had a purpose that could be both seen and felt, even through the chaos.

“Alright!” Cara's voice – Cara was alive! – carried over the battlefield, “If you can help move the wounded, start moving the wounded!”

The battle was over, then, or at least the last of it was far enough afield that they could start saving who they -

\- saving who they could.

Din ran towards the wreckage of the last walker.

How the hell did they wind up like this?

–

_Din didn't remember how old he was when it happened, just that it happened._

_He could still feel the pressure from whatever took his parents – bomb or cannon or something else – as it passed the door that saved his life, sometimes; he could feel it crash over him like it had just happened, hear the ringing in his ears._

_From the instant he saw the Mandalorian who saved his life, he knew who he wanted to be._

_He wanted to be someone who pulled children from the wreckage._

–

It was slow going at first – there was only so much Din could lift on his own and there were still fires smoldering above the waterline.

And damn everything, it was _heavy_.

He drew the darksaber and started cutting through the worst of it. Slowly. Carefully. It couldn't cut through pure Beskar, sure, but there was no telling who or what was trapped under the scattered pieces of the metal hull.

He could tell others had joined the efforts to sort through things, tell that others were trying to find survivors, were holding on to a _hope_ that there _were_ survivors.

And hope.

Hope made people impossibly strong in both body and spirit.

–

_He'd forsaken his name when he started his training. There was no need to keep something given to him when he was a different person living a different life._

_He could have chosen a name, sure, but he did not feel drawn to one._

_Training was his favorite thing. While he trained, his body and mind were no more than a part of everything around him. He was the situation, and the situation was him._

_The rest of his life was chaos and trying to find how he fit into this new life that had no name to it._

_When he fought, he was a Mandalorian, and that was simple._

–

Din could feel something tear in his shoulder as he shoved a particularly heavy piece out of the way; it was odd shaped and its thickness was so varied that slashing through it with the darksaber might result in hitting or stabbing someone.

He shifted to lead with his other shoulder.

He didn't have time to stop.

–

_Din transferred from the covert that had trained him to one on Nevarro after the man who saved him went missing._

_He had transferred by choice; Din kept looking him and the absence felt like **loss.**_

_Din could not afford to feel like he'd lost someone._

–

Every time Din found someone, alive or dead, he shot up a signal for someone to come retrieve the body. 

He wasn't finding many people alive.

–

_The first time he saw Paz was in a sparring match._

_Din had not elected to be in the match, not by any means, but there was a Mandalorian near twice his width and two hand spans taller who decided Din was the next volunteer._

_Din was new to this covert and knew he had yet to grow into his body; it made sense to Din that he would be singled out like this._

_His opponent attacked like it was personal, though._

_His opponent was fast and preferred small knives to the machine gun he had strapped across his back. That was for the better, Din figured, because sparring against **that** would make for a horrible match._

_Din was fast, too, though, and he could use his size to his advantage in this, slip through the other's guard and land blows just behind his armor plates._

_Din didn't win, but he did not lose either; the covert's Armorer had broken up the fight with no more than six words:_

_“You will take your hate elsewhere.”_

_Hate._

_Hate was something Din did not understand._

–

Din was used to people dying.

Not people he knew, not really, but he'd done his share of killing and slaughter and then some.

It was different, being on the other side of it, trying to find someone who _wasn't_ dead, hoping he found a specific someone.

He hated it.

–

_Din had many more encounters with that particular member of the covert. He came to learn about him in bits and pieces. He was a foundling, too. They were only a few years apart. He was a warrior, proud and unafraid of anything, including death._

_He looked for any chance he could find to fight, and excuse._

_He was fiercely protective of children too young to swear themselves to the Creed._

_He wanted so badly for an excuse to go to the surface, to step out of the shadows, but he could never find one._

_He did not keep friends._

–

Din screamed in pain as his injured shoulder gave out when he tried to shift a piece of the wreckage. 

Strangers were beside him in a heartbeat, lifting where he could not.

Someone muttered an apology and shoved his shoulder back into place with a loud crack and Din screamed again.

“Easy,” the Armorer was right there, steady hand between his shoulder blades, “Let it settle.”

“No time,” Din said through gritted teeth.

–

_Din came into his own one winter, the only warm parts of the covert near the lava flows. He got taller and his shoulders got broader and his armor felt like it fit him instead of engulfed him._

_He'd spent so long learning how to use his smaller size to his advantage. That advantage was gone, now, but he was still **fast** , just fast enough to stay half a step ahead in most of his sparring matches._

_There wasn't much else to do _but_ spar anymore. _

_He wanted so badly to find a place in the covert beyond 'a Mandalorian of the Tribe.'_

_He wanted to be given a name by a station he didn't yet have._

–

Din learned a number of new swear word combinations from the Armorer – most of them in Mandalorian and a few in a language he did not know but understood the sentiment behind them – as he tried to keep sifting through wreckage despite his injuries.

“Din! Din, don't. Make. It. Worse,” Cara grabbed him and restrained him with his own spear to lock his arms behind his back.

His spear.

She found his spear, so where was-

–

_The day Din became the covert's beroya was going to be a day ingrained in Din's memory until the day he died._

_He'd sat in the hall for hours, still as a stone despite the anxious racing of his heart, while the Armorer and what few elder Mandalorians discussed the viability of elevating someone so **young** to such a crucial position._

_A test, they finally decided. A near-impossible test, one to push Din to his limits and show him what the rest of his life would feel like if he succeeded: Din had two days to complete five bounties and bring the payments back to the covert._

_Din had gone right to the Guild, the leader amused by this strange Mandalorian's determination. Din had been given six fobs and a **good luck** that sounded to Din like **You're already a failure and don't know it yet.**_

–

His spear had been found! 

If his spear was found, how far could Paz be?

How far could Paz have been thrown?

–

_He'd come back with all six bounties with a small handful of hours to spare._

_He'd become the Tribe's beroya._

_He could feel himself shaking from excitement and exhaustion as he was confirmed to the position in front of the entire Tribe._

_The one who'd picked him out as a frequent involuntary sparring partner sat at the very front. Din could feel his weighted stare even with both their helmets securely on._

_Somehow, he felt like he'd passed more than one test._

–

Once the remaining pieces got too heavy to move, Cara released Din with a hissed “One arm only.”

Din drew the darksaber and started to remove sections that people _could_ drag away.

The process was too slow for Din. He needed this job done, and he needed it done several minutes ago.

The water here was low enough that any survivors would not drown, so long as they were on their back or sides.

It was still too slow.

Too slow.

–

_Din was gone more than he was with the covert._

_There were always more jobs to do, more bounties to collect._

_More places to be that weren't the covert._

_He felt like a stranger when he was there. The rest of the tribe – save for the Armorer – got out of his way wherever he walked._

_And then there were the jealous ones._

_The ones who wanted to be able to go freely among the stars like they seemed to think he did, the ones who remembered the sun and wind and how it felt to walk on something besides concrete._

_When he wasn't working, he was sleeping or honing his fighting styles._

_There was only one who would spar with the beroya, though, and Din was so very familiar with that one's fighting style._

–

Din saw the flash of orange first, barely visible through the wreckage that was the walker's engine.

It made sense – he'd been going for the engine, he'd _struck_ the engine, of course he'd be there.

Cara secured Din again, prevented him from trying to shove the entire engine off of Paz to see how much of the man was buried.

–

_Din came to seek out sparring sessions before he roped into them._

_There was something about the sparring that he couldn't replicate on a bounty hunt. It was freer, faster, more...elegant...than hunting._

_It was the feeling of being the hunted._

_“Thank you,” Din said after one particularly violent sparring session._

_“Paz,” the other man said, “My name is Paz.”_

_“Thank you, Paz,” Din wondered if the other man could hear his smile._

–

Cobb was there, so suddenly, demanding to know what the hell happened. There were tear tracks down his face and a deep fear in his eyes that Din would remember for the rest of his life.

“He helps move it and his shoulder's going to take months to recover at best,” Cara explained, “I let him go and he's going to try to move it.”

“Din,” Cobb's voice broke the last of Din's strength and Din made a noise so wounded Cara took a shuddering breath, “Din, just. Just drop it here, let me try.”

Din let the darksaber fall into the mud.

“Let's try this,” Cobb muttered as he determined which end the blade came out of. Once he was fairly certain he wasn't going to impale himself, he pressed the button that looked like something that would activate it.

The blade was huge and dark and had a _pull_ to it that was undeniable.

_Under duress,_ Cobb recalled the phrase being.

If this didn't count for duress, he wasn't sure what did.

Maybe everyone could tap into the force a little bit under enough duress.

He'd think about it later.

Cobb cut through the engine piece by piece, letting each one fall _away_ from them.

Din struggled against Cara's hold periodically, to no avail.

Cobb got closer and closer to the bottom of the pile.

–

_Over time, Paz got stand-offish and then outright hostile towards Din. Whatever friendly rivalry they'd built had died and Din had no idea why._

_'You will take your hate elsewhere,' the Armorer had said the first time they'd sparred._

_But why? Why did Paz hate Din? Why had that hate **returned** now? He wanted to ask the Armorer, but it seemed every time he managed to find the Armorer, Paz was right there._

_He could get used to the hate, he decided. He could accept it, learn to live around it._

_After all, the covert counted on him now._

_There couldn't be room for hurt feelings, not if he wanted to succeed._

_Not if he wanted to make the covert proud._

_There were no more wars for Mandalorians to show up and pull children our of the wreckage when all was said and done, he'd realized years ago, just a fragile Tribe and hopefully other hidden coverts that needed their beroyas to keep them fed and supply rooms stocked._

_Needs over wants._

_Always._

–

“Shit,” Cobb hissed as he cut the second to last piece away from where the rest of Paz should be laying, “I need a lift team!”

And just like that, the darksaber was withdrawn and dropped in the mud – it was never taken or given, it was still Din's – and Cobb and a bunch of farmers were lifting the last piece of the engine up and-

–

_Even delirious from a traumatic head injury, Din had looked for Paz's helmet first._

_He'd wanted to tear up the pile, would have done so if the Armorer hadn't shown up, wanted to see for himself if Paz's helmet was in there._

_He couldn't explain why, but he **needed** Paz to be alive._

–

Paz wasn't moving.

–

_All Din had felt when he saw Paz again was fear._

_Well, he'd felt **exposed** and like he might be losing his mind entirely but Paz was very much there still carried a hate inside him that was, perhaps, more surface now than before._

_But...also more subdued. He let Peli, who was probably a third his size, push him around._

_Some of his covert had survived._

_They'd survived and Paz and his Armorer were **there** and he was **there** and all the rules of engagement had changed._

_Din couldn't explain the joy trying to break through the fear the entire time they all sat in the bar._

–

“He's breathing,” Cobb said, one side of his face to Paz's still-armored chest, “He's breathing.”

Din fell to his knees and Cara released him as he fell.

“Get him moved to one of the huts,” Cara said, “He'll need some serious treatment.”

“We'll need a stretcher for him,” Cobb told everyone.

“Consider me on it,” Cara said, each word sounding further away from the last.

Paz had won them the battle, Din realized.

Paz had won them the battle and he was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hurt my own feelings with this one. Again.
> 
> How did y'all feel about the present-flashback-present pattern in this one?


	32. Count the Cost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle's won but costs are heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath starts to unravel, and all our key players each have their role to fill.

She'd seen war before. She knew how to shut off the part of her mind that was screaming at her to recognize the loss of life and the smell that could only be described as _death_ so she could carry on.

And so, that part of her mind was shut off, unable to reach her.

There was so, so much work to be done.

She'd shoved a small bottle of bacta spray in one of Din's hands and a small bunch of bandages in the other, told him to do what he needed to, and shut the door.

Paz and Din – _her boys_ – had been placed in a hut whose occupants fell in battle. The Armorer made sure the windows were blocked out and everyone understood that under no circumstances was _anyone else_ to enter that hut unless cries for help came from the inside.

Cobb included.

There was so, so much work to be done.

There weren't enough medical supplies on the entire planet to fix up the survivors.

So that's what she was going to fix.

Omera had demanded she go with her, insisted she needed to plea for the supplies as a survivor and, really, the Armorer saw no reason not to let Omera come. 

Her daughter – Winta, she was called – joined them as well. This child had seen the horrors of battle more than once, and there was no sense in denying the girl the comfort of her mother.

They'd run back to the ship, taken off without doing much to secure themselves to their seats.

“Where are we going?” Omera asked.

“There's a planet with a large medical facility not terribly far from here,” the Armorer explained to her, “It's our best bet.”

“What if they don't help us,” Omera wasn't really asking questions, just letting her fears out in the form of word, “What if we can't get the supplies in time?”

“Do not welcome those thoughts on this flight,” the Armorer tried not to snap at her.

The truth was, she was asking herself the same questions.

“Mommy?” Winta whimpered and shuffled into Omera's lap and made herself as small as she could, “Mommy, why was is so bad this time?”

“I don't know sweetheart,” Omera pulled Winta into her and held the child and stroked her hair and repeated, “I don't know.”

The Armorer didn't have any answers, either.

–

The only word Cobb had for this was _carnage._

He'd killed and tended to his town's dead, but this? This was different. This was an honest _battle_ and he'd spent the whole of it in the forest.

He felt like a coward.

A runner had come to the forest, told them the day was won and that it was time to move the survivors and bury the dead.

Cobb had told the kids to stay in the forest until that part was done and then taken off running towards the battle.

Towards Din.

He'd found Din being restrained by Cara while far too many people were trying and failing to move some wreckage.

He hadn't been thinking when he'd told Din to drop the darksaber; it seemed a good way to avoid _taking it_ and he just.

He had to at least _try._

He could only see the knee guard of Paz's armor sticking out from under the wreckage, but it looked like it was still connected to, well, at least to his knee and Cobb hoped the rest of Paz was still attached to it.

He'd nearly _wept_ when he felt the smallest rise and fall of Paz's chest. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek and started giving orders. That, at least, was familiar territory.

Now, though, with two of the Mandalorians all but barricaded in one hut and the third off-world, the only warrior left on the scene was Cara, who was still on the battlefield, searching for munitions that still posed a threat.

Cobb was doing something he hadn't done a lot of: administering medical assistance to anyone he could reach who needed it.

In theory, the Armorer and Omera that the kid whose name he missed were going to be back soon with more supplies, but if they didn't?

Well, if this was all they had, Cobb was going to have to start making calls on who lived and who didn't.

Somewhere not terribly far away, Peli was making the same judgment calls.

These people trusted them because Omera trusted them, who only trusted them because she seemed to think Cara trusted them. There was no reason behind it, no _proof_ that Cobb or Peli had the ability to tell who could recover without additional support.

There wasn't nearly enough bacta to go around. Cobb had developed a bit of an ad hoc system: one spray to head wounds, two to exposed bones, half to laceration. Anything smaller was packed with the cleanest possible cloth.

He had no idea how many of these people were bleeding out internally and he wasn't spraying because he couldn't see the damage.

He wondered how Peli was doing with the same task.

He wondered how Din was doing.

He wondered how Paz was doing.

He forced himself to stop thinking about the people he couldn't see and focus on the ones he could.

–

Cara had done this before. Never alone and never in flooded fields, but she had done this before.

There were so many things that didn't detonate over the course of the battle.

So many things things that could claim lives later if they were left as they were.

There was only so much she could do alone. When things had stabilized better, when the worst of this was truly over, she'd have to call on the New Republic to send a team in to take care of what she couldn't.

If she could safely explode anything – well, as closely to safely explode something as far as explosions went – she did, and if she couldn't, she took large sticks ot pieces of wreckage and stuck them in the ground with a length of rope tied to it to indicate _stay away._

The thought of missing one terrified her.

She thought of Winta, of the other children who would help harvest their village's only source of income from these waters and what devastation would come to them if she missed one.

–

The Armorer had landed at the medical facility and Omera had run in ahead of both her and Winta.

“Mommy!” Winta cried after her.

“You stay here,” Omera commanded.

The Armorer was fairly sure Omera was talking to her daughter, but just in case, she stayed put, too.

–

Peli and Cobb waved at each other when they were maybe twenty paces apart.

Cobb looked exhausted and haunted and Peli assumed she looked much the same.

When they were close enough to talk while keeping their voices low, Peli asked, “How you holding up?”

“Trying not to think about it,” Cobb's voice was tight, “What went so wrong?”

“Trying not to think about it,” Peli shook her head.

Cobb frowned and hugged Peli and Peli melted into him and cried.

She wasn't built for this.

She thought she could carry her own weight, but she was so, so wrong.

–

Din's entire body shook as he peeled off his armor; his arms weren't doing what he needed them to do but he needed to treat his arms if he was going to be able to start pulling Paz's armor off.

Time was not a luxury he had.

–

Cara came back to the village to see if she could find something, anything, to eat. She could keep going if she had to, but she hadn't eaten since the night before and she was starting to worry she was going to start making completely avoidable mistakes.

She saw Cobb and Peli working together, kneeling next to someone. Cara couldn't tell if the person they were working on was alive or not.

She walked past them in silence.

Everyone had work to get done.

–

Omera returned with a bag of what the Armorer hoped were medical supplies strapped to her back and her shirt cut away at the shoulder to reveal a large white patch with blood already seeping through it.

“Mommy?” Winta ran up to Omera and tugged at her hand.

“I'm okay, sweetheart,” Omera picked Winta up and kissed her temple, “Come on.”

The Armorer could feel Omera staring at her, judging her, as she started the ship up and punched in the coordinates for Sorgan.

Once they were in the air, Omera sent Winta to go find herself some food with a reminder not to enter any closed doors.

The cockpit door slid shut behind Winta and the Armorer felt herself sit up impossibly straight, eyes fixed in the blur of space in front of them.

“The New Republic will be sending troops to Sorgan in a matter of hours,” Omera told her, “I have a feeling there are a few among those you're traveling with who would want to avoid a run-in.”

“You are remarkably calm about that notion,” the Armorer measured each word carefully.

“Oh please,” Omera rolled her eyes, “Nobody comes to Sorgan for fun. They come to disappear.”

She saw Omera's logic and opted not to tell her one way or the other.

Still, they're have to turn around and leave or hide.

She'd had enough of both.

–

Cobb and Peli had been joined with a number of others, strangers from other villages who'd faced much smaller scale battles on their own and had shared their task before.

“Where are you moving the ones who can be moved?” someone asked Peli.

“Huts, if the door's open,” Peli told them, “If we're out of room in the huts, uh, gather as many stretchers as you can and get them elevated. Rocks, logs, anything to keep them off the ground.”

“Understood,” the stranger nodded and left.

“I think we're out of huts,” Peli told Cobb.

“I wish I was surprised,” Cobb shook his head.

Peli made an empathetic sound and squeezed Cobb's arm as they moved on to the next person.

–

Stripping Paz's armor was a hell of a job.

The straps were different than Din's, for starters – much better hidden and tied together instead of clasped.

Din's hands were still shaking, the pain in them absolutely overwhelming. He'd only used enough of the bacta spray on himself to free his arms of the worst of their damage because he had no idea what state he was going to find Paz was in.

He was sure the tube was all the bacta they'd get.

Din started with Paz's chest piece, wanted to make sure Paz's heart and lungs were free from exterior damage. He used Paz's own knife to cut away Paz's blacks.

There was already mottled bruising all over Paz's chest. Din gave a few gentle touches and he could tell Paz had several broken ribs.

Din needed, needed to get the bacta into Paz's bloodstream, and he needed to do it several minutes ago.

“I'm sorry,” he wasn't sure Paz could hear him, but he kept talking while he sliced Paz clear across the chest, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

–

Omera told Winta to wait in their village for her return. Winta nodded and sniffed and watched her mother run back towards the battlefield with the red-coated stranger.

–

The supplies Omera brought with her were redistributed almost as soon as she shrugged the bag off her back.

“Status?” she asked Peli, who had given directions to everyone who had taken the new supplies.

“Up in the air,” Peli answered honestly, “This will help. A lot.”

“You've helped a lot,” Omera gave Peli a small squeeze on her shoulder, “Thank you.”

“It's the least I could do,” Peli's face was tired but her eyes were clear.

–

News of the impending New Republic troops' arrival spread quickly.

Cobb and Cara helped anyone and everyone who didn't want to be laying in recovery when the soldiers came through find a place to hide – sympathetic families in other villages, under-floor compartments normally used to store food, anywhere a person could fit – two if they needed someone to watch them while they recovered.

“You seem used to this,” Cara said to Cobb between villages.

“Have you ever _been_ to Tatooine?” Cobb asked her, but there was a laugh well-buried in his question.

–

Paz was starting to come around.

Din had gotten Paz's chest and back plating off, had started working on Paz's legs when a still-gloved hand grabbed his arm.

“Paz,” Din's voice broke, “Paz, it's me.”

Paz didn't make a sound, but he let go of Din's arm. 

Din worked as quickly as he could to finish removing Paz's armor and applying drops of bacta to Paz's gashes and deep bruises.

Paz stayed unnervingly still, only periodically twitching when Din touched one of the worst bruises.

Drop by drop, nick by nick in Paz's skin with Paz's own knife, Din tended to Paz's injuries.

All that was left was whatever damage awaited under Paz's helmet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I almost start typing out the Demon's Run poem from Doctor who with the title and summary? Yes. Did I realize the next bit would have been 'but the child is lost' and immediately change my mind? Also yes.


	33. A Man in Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Republic troops conduct a final check for Imperials; the Armorer doesn't want to find out what happens when the soldiers see her; Din and Paz stay hidden while Paz recovers; the rest of the team fills the roles they need to so a power vacuum can't develop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din's life is a series of being in the wrong place at the wrong time but doing the right thing anyway.

Din placed a hand on either side of Paz's helmet and tried to keep his hands as steady as possible while he started removing it.

Paz gripped both of Din's wrists with a crushing force. Din did not pull away, but rather said, “please,” so quietly he wasn't sure Paz would be able to hear him.

Paz released Din's wrists but kept his hands very close to Din's, like he might change his mind again.

Din did his best not to just yank the helmet off so Paz _couldn't_ change his mind again; doing so seemed like a horrible idea despite how tempting it might have been. But no, Din worked slowly, tried to be as careful as possible not to jostle Paz's neck.

The further up the helmet got, the more dark blood Din could see caking Paz's jaw and neck.

“Looks like you broke your jaw pretty badly,” Din told him when he finished removing the helmet.

Paz flicked Din's arm as if to say _no shit_.

“Here,” Din held up the bottle of bacta, “Let me-”

Paz's eyes went wide and his nostril's flared and Din recalled the Armorer's story about Paz's broken nose incident. 

It was amazing, what people were afraid of and didn't even realize it was fear they were feeling. Here Paz couldn't talk and yet the thought of receiving a bacta spray to the face was what drew a reaction.

“Hang on,” Din sprayed his own hands a few times and then placed his bacta-covered palms on either side of Paz's jaw, right over the parts of skin that had broken open.

Paz's breathing came in what Din could only think to describe as _stutters_ as the bacta worked its way into Paz's face. Din kept his eyes lowered, kept himself careful, kept so far away from any eye contact, as if not seeing Paz's eyes meant he didn't see Paz's face at all.

After what felt like an eternity, Din withdrew his hands and finally, finally started stripping off his own armor to assess the damages to his own body.

–

“Alright,” Cobb joined Cara, Peli, Omera, and Winta – who Omera had briefly scolded when she'd shown up but then kept as close as possible – where they were standing near the ship that had brought him to this planet, “that's everyone, I think.”

“What's going on?” Winta asked.

“Come 'ere kiddo,” Cara picked the kid up and carried her on her hip like she was a much smaller child, bringing their faces to the same level, “You know how you don't ask where people came from here, only where they're going?”

Winta made a muffled noise of understanding and nodded.

“Well, any minute now there's going to be a **lot** of strangers arriving who don't know that and have no desire to learn that,” Cara explained, “And sometimes, people just have to lay low and wait until people like that are gone again instead of try to teach them the value of second chances.”

Winta whimpered and buried her face in Cara's neck. Cara wrapped one arm around the kid and cradled the back of her head.

“I know, Winta,” Cara's voice was the most gentle Cobb had ever heard it, “I know.”

Cobb looked around and noticed the Armorer was nowhere to be seen.

–

A different ship had landed first, though, maybe two hours before the New Republic troops had arrived, a ship that felt like Peli _should_ know, but she really, really didn't.

Until a familiar face stepped out.

“Hey,” she swatted Cobb.

“I ain't blind,” Cobb hissed.

“Ahsoka,” Cara seemed to remember how to actually interact with people, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

–

“New Republic troops en route,” the Armorer said from the other side of the hut wall, “there's water and food by the door. We're expecting an occupation.”

And she was gone.

“Shit,” Din hissed as he skittered to the front of the hut to collect the supplies and hurried back in. 

Paz was asleep under some blankets Din had found, colorful bruising still covering too much of his skin for Din's liking. He wasn't sure if Paz had actually fallen asleep while Din was tending his own injuries or if Paz's pain had been so intense he passed out.

Either way, Paz was sleeping.

Din set about sifting through the food to see what they'd need to eat first. It was soft foods, mostly, easy things to eat. Din couldn't tell if the Armorer knew what Paz's worst injury was, or if she had just assumed they needed to expend as little energy as possible, including energy expended by something as simple as eating.

It was enough for three, maybe four days. It could have lasted longer if they weren't both recovering from incredibly traumatic injuries, but Din supposed what the Armorer left was an exact amount based on when she expected them to be able to leave the hut and regroup at the only logical place to regroup – the ship.

And then they'd leave the planet behind.

–

Ahsoka had dragged the group of them back to her ship and closed the ramp before she said, “There's word going around that a bunch of Mandalorians were seen blowing up Imperial walkers on a planet the wars never reached.”

“About that...” Peli started saying.

“Where are they?” Ahsoka asked.

“Alive,” Cara crossed her arms.

“I want to _help you,_ ” Ahsoka said.

“Wasn't really getting that impression back on Sorgan,” Cara's arms were still crossed.

“Troops are going be be here soon and they're going to be looking for them,” Ahsoka sighed, “The Empire may have attempted to wipe the Mandalorians from the galaxy, but the New Republic won't be shy about interrogating them to see what wrongs they've done. They'll need to answer for.”

“...and if the ship's still here, they're going to know they're still here,” Peli realized.

“What do we do?” Omera asked.

Everyone stood in silence for several too-long moments, waiting for _someone_ to come up with an answer.

“What we're going to do,” Cobb said with an authority he didn't feel, “Peli, you're going to take Winta out ship and you're going to go to another planet until Cara or I hail you to return. Cara, you were New Republic military, you're going to greet them when they get here and find a way keep them away from Din and Paz until Paz can be moved long distances. Ahsoka, leave before they get here so they don't even get the chance to know _you_ were here to give us a heads up. Omera, the locals are going to mention you had a major hand in training everyone, so we'll need you to be in the general area for when they invariably want to know more about all the training.”

“And what are you going to do?” Ahsoka asked him.

“Pretend I'm a local,” Cobb shrugged, “There are children that need watching with no one to watch them right now.”

Ahsoka nodded and lowered her ship's ramp.

Time was not something they could afford to waste.

–

Paz awoke, freezing, to see Din mending something, so focused he didn't notice Paz had awoken until Paz cleared his throat.

Din wasn't the right... _nothing_ was the right color. There was a moment

“Hey,” Din said quietly.

Paz opened his mouth and his jaw popped and he shoved it back in place without so much as a wince. He stared at Din, truly stared at Din without the HUD in his field of vision, for the first time while Din dropped his eyes to the floor.

“You took everything from me,” Paz's words were soft around the edges but the force behind them was piercing.

“I saved your life,” Din put what he was mending – a set of blacks from the look of it – and laid his hands in his lap.

“I didn't ask you to,” Paz snarled.

“And I didn't ask you to blow yourself up,” Din was so calm that Paz was almost afraid of the storm brewing underneath.

Paz tried to stand up but couldn't get his core muscled to cooperate.

“What did you do to me?” Paz demanded.

“You broke several ribs,” Din told him, “I...was able to get some bacta on the worst of it, but I imagine your body is still trying to knit itself back together.”

“Everything,” Paz growled and pounded his fist against the floor.

Din picked up his mending project and started working on it again.

Paz felt invisible.

–

Cara was...disappointed.

The rigid formality and the defecting to listening to one person and one person only and the predictable formations.

This was an army that won a war and didn't care to make room for another one; an army that maintained its appearances of being the best of the best protectors to the general public but looked like nothing short of under-trained grunts who were really, really good at following orders.

It _did_ make it easy to keep them away from Din.

And, really, the ability to call for air support if they found any more Imperial holdouts was worth the disappointment.

–

Paz woke with a start and sat up and started coughing and Din scrambled to find something to pour some water in before he gave it to Paz in hopes it helped.

Paz took the water and drank it too fast and coughed some back up.

Din instinctively put a hand on Paz's shoulder and Paz flinched away like Din had just shot him instead of tried to help, water spilling everywhere.

Paz, at least, had stopped coughing. His breath came in jagged gulps and he hand one to his chest, fingers curled like claws into his skin.

Din stared at the spilled water like it was reflecting all he'd failed at.

–

Din was too close, too close. Paz was choking and couldn't get enough air in, couldn't get air past the knot in his throat that was blocking his air.

The water felt like a shock and the touch of a hand, an ungloved hand on his too-bare shoulder turned the shock into something only pure terror itself could have manifested.

“What happened?” Paz managed to say between gasps.

“What's the last thing you remember?” Din's voice was like something rising out of a well-shadowed cavern, something that would only take shape _after_ it struck.

“I,” Paz faltered and put one hand down in the spill and the other on dry floor and let his palms bear the weight of his upper body, “I struck the engine. I struck the engine with your spear because your jetpack was compromised.”

Din told him about searching the wreckage and Paz could tell Din left most of the details out. Din told him of both of them being relegated to the hut they were in and the hut being covered entirely so no one could see in and of the impending New Republic troops and Paz realized Din was a wanted man.

“Beroya,” Paz said weakly, “You were our beroya.”

Din blinked a few times and almost raised his eyes off the floor before he cast them down again and said, “Just because I hunted criminals doesn't mean I didn't become one in the process.”

Paz realized that, if he was going to talk, he could only open his mouth a little bit and it would make his words muffled. His entire body was in pain and the room seemed like it wanted to start spinning.

Din sounded wounded, and not from the battle; no, this was an ancient hurt that the battle only brought to the surface despite years and years of trying to bury it.

Paz took as deep of a breath and sat up again and put a hand around Din's upper arm. Din froze but when Paz tugged Din towards him, Din allowed it.

Gently, so gently because he was both terrified and in so, so much more pain that he thought anyone could be in and still be conscious, he touched their foreheads together.

“I thought you hate me,” Din whispered.

–

Peli and Winta were playing catch with one of the parts she'd been in the middle of fixing when Cobb told her she had the chance to see and feel rain.

And then everything else happened so fast that she didn't return to that particular fix-it.

At least it was both a non-vital part and one safe to play catch with.

“Is Cara going to be okay?” Winta asked.

“Cara's going to be fantastic,” Peli believed it entirely as she said it.

“Why did Cobb want me to leave the planet?” Winta caught the part and held onto it, “Is mom going to be okay?”

“Your mom's going to be just fine,” Peli assured her, “And in case anything got really bad, I think.”

“Really bad?” Winta's lower lip started trembling.

“Well,” Peli didn't want to lie to the kid, “if they _do_ find more bad guys or walkers, people fight better when they're not worried about someone else.”

“But Cara's still down there!” Winta exclaimed, “Why didn't Cara come here, too, then?”

“Cara used to be a soldier,” Peli explained, “She's the best one to talk with the people coming to search your planet.”

“Oh, okay,” Winta started fiddling with the part she was still holding, “Peli?”

“Yes Winta?”

“Where are we going?”

Peli sighed to buy herself a second to think about the answer.

“We're going to secure a future for a people who had everything taken from the,” she told the kid, “And we're going to see what their leader's already done to make the worlds he's been to a better place.”

–

The Armorer was exhausted.

Battle was _always_ exhausting, but it felt different now.

She'd done wrong in her life, yes, and she'd paid dearly for it. In the early post-Purge days, she'd rallied the last of the Mandalorians she could save and taken them deep, deep underground, both figuratively and literally.

They'd scraped up bits and pieces of themselves to form the Tribe and narrowed their definition of what it meant to be a Mandalorian to strict adherence of the Creed and a commitment to strengthening the remnants of the Mandalorian Empire.

And they had as close to thrived as any underground society could. The battled and they scouted and they pulled other Mandalorians into their orbit. Sometimes, a scout brought a Foundling back and the Tribe grew bigger.

Din had been...something exceptional from the day he arrived, alone and without signet and without name. She'd scoured the records to try to figure out where this kid came from, _why_ this kid came here.

All she found was his name.

When she'd decided to do this, to see what _Din Djarin_ had left in _his_ wake, at no point had she even considered she'd be _hiding_ in some stranger's hut behind a privacy curtain because the people who could make her face retribution for the things she'd done were _right there._

There was so much shame in what she was doing, this hiding, this _avoidance_.

She took a few deep breaths and tried to fall asleep wedged in the corner so her back and sides were covered at all times.

–

_You will take your hate elsewhere._

That's what the Armorer had told him the first time he's attacked Din.

She knew, somehow, knew that he _hated_ this newcomer who was so young but already so accomplished, this _child_ who held the social weight of three or more of his elders yet tried to shy away from it.

And she'd let the newcomer know.

And maybe he did hate Din for a while, maybe he _did_ resent Din for how natural _being someone who mattered_ came to him. 

He hated Din right now for removing his helmet, for making the choice whether he lived or died _for him._

But before Paz knelt a man who'd managed to become _King_ , a man who'd done the right thing over and over despite constantly managing to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In front of Paz knelt a man who was everything Paz had once aspired to be but given up on becoming somewhere along the lines.

And he thought Paz hated him.

He'd seen others do this, touch foreheads to indicate there was something greater than the self hanging between the, and though what he'd see had always been with helmets on – they were Mandalorians whether or not they formed personal attachments – right here and right now words failed him and even if he could have found them he could not have spoken them and so a _need_ to show Din that the hate in his heart was something he felt about himself that he could not tough, that he only knew how to deflect outward and onto people he wanted to be.

Every single nerve in his body lit up as if there was a fire under his skin and his most base desires to _thrive_ even in the dark flared back to life. He was squeezing Din's, trying to use Din as a conduit to keep him anchored to where they were now and Din was _shaking_ and it was all his fault and-

Din shifted to hug Paz, gently, awkwardly, something more like resting his forearms on Paz's shoulders but Paz felt something inside of him shatter as the fire in his skin spread out from every single point he was touching, threatened to consume him and burn him from the inside out and leave nothing but ashes in his soul.

Paz let it burn.

Din shifted so he could hold Paz close and Paz hissed in pain but clutched Din like a lifeline, like if he held Din close enough the parts of himself that remembered who he'd wanted to be would survive this cleansing fire.

–

Cara returned to Omera's hut at the end of the day. 

Omera was there, waiting, food over the fire still warm for Cara.

“Hello love,” Omera's smile was warm.

“Hello love,” Cara managed a smile.

“How go the patrols?” Omera was trying to guard her words, to say something else entirely that she trusted Cara to understand in case anyone was listening.

“They've combed through pretty much everything from here to the city,” Cara told her, “They've camped throughout the woods and they're going to do a final sweep in the morning before moving on to another section of the planet.”

“So they are staying,” Omera said it as she realized it. Cara nodded as Omera handed her a bowl of dinner.

“Seems it,” Cara said with her mouth full, “They want to know how more walkers keep getting onto the planet.”

“They'll be here a while then,” Omera said with less care than she should have.

“Sounds like you could use a little vacation,” Cara said, her eyebrows raised.

“Perhaps,” Omera's smile turned into something much more mischievous, “perhaps, my love, but only if you pick where I am going.”

Cara's face lit up and Omera knew they were leaving Sorgan together as soon as it was safe to do so.

–

Cobb fell asleep outside.

In the mud.

Face-down.

He'd been so far beyond exhausted the night before and he didn't remember falling asleep. Hell, the last part of the day was more a blur of things that were probably very important but he'd been in such a haze they were ideas rather than events.

He did, however, remember that he was supposed to be guarding the children.

He forced himself to his feet and whirled around only to realize he'd been sleeping at the base of a small staircase that lead into one of the larger huts.

Which was where he'd put the children for the night.

He groaned and looked at the krill pond a few feet away and decided wading in like this was his best bet to try to get some of the mud off him before the children woke up.

–

Peli whooped when she received the call to come back to Sorgan.

“We're going home???” Winta was in the co-pilot's seat but absolutely _not_ touching any of the controls.

Unless Peli told her which ones to touch, in which case Winta was getting her first flying lesson.

“We're going home, kiddo,” Peli assured her.

–

Moving Paz to the ship was an ordeal.

He refused to leave the hut without his armor, and since Din had cut up his blacks while he was saving his life, he and Din had to fashion something out of the remnants of his blacks and blankets in the house. Paz winced every time one of his armor pieces shifted and reflexively punched Din twice when Din tried to help.

He could only walk so fast and when he suggested he fly himself back to the ship even Winta had told him that was a horrible idea in his current state.

They made it to the ship, though, and when Omera and Winta stayed inside as the ramp was taken up, nobody was surprised.

Cara and Omera went off hand-in-hand, periodically giggling and leaning towards each other while Winta held Cara's other hand and skipped alongside them. 

Paz tried to stand on his own to get to his quarters and went down immediately.

“Easy,” it was Cobb slinging Paz's arm across his shoulders, it was Cobb who was ready in an instant to help Paz get where he needed to go.

Barely a moment later, Din was there, too, and together Din-and-Cobb got Paz to his quarters and gently deposited him on his bed.

“Wait,” Paz said as they were almost out the door.

“Paz?” came Din's careful question with so, so much weight behind it.

“I,” Paz took his helmet off and looked to the both of them, “help me.”

Din's sharp inhale and Cobb's shocked exhale clashed with each other as their mouths hung open.

“Of course,” Cobb was the first to recover, “What do you need?”

 _Everything_ Paz wanted to say, but what came out with, “My armor. I can't...”

“Of course,” Cobb said again.

–

It was normal, expected even, that after a battle with such heavy losses, everyone would lean on the bonds they'd made, would use the remaining strength of others to build their own back up. Cara and Omera, Cobb and Din, those did not surprise her at all, they way they leaned on each other.

Paz, though, Paz's willingness to be helped was a surprise.

Now was not the time to think about what that mean, though, now was not the time to wonder if both her boys had been broken because she hadn't told them the truth and that choice set these impossible events in motion.

As if she has so much power over the universe.

She roamed the halls of the ship, restless, needing to do _something_ besides sit and think.

In the mess hall, Peli was watching her droids and the kid play and tumble with each other. The Armorer couldn't tell if the droids were playing like children or the kid was playing like a droid, but the sight warmed her heart, the notion that one among them could hold space for a child to _be a child_ despite everything gave her back a hope she'd long abandoned.

“Come to play too?” Peli asked, a lightness in her voice that stole the breath from the Armorer's lungs.

When the air returned to her, she chuckled and decided to stand next to Peli and watch the joyful chaos.

“Mommy says she needs to sleep,” Winta said as she was tossed gently into the air by three of the droids, “I don't want to sleep because I'm not tired so mommy said I needed to stay near somebody and Peli said I can stay near her.”

“Well isn't that nice of Peli,” the Armorer said/

“Uh-huh,” Winta nodded, “Peli's really nice.”

Beside her, Peli blushed and ducked her chin.

–

Nobody really knew where they were going next.

They let themselves drift in space for a few says, let their bodies rest and gave their minds a chance to start scraping thoughts back together.

Seeing Paz in civilian clothes with his helmet on became a common sight; his skin was bruised and the bruises looked _deep_ , like they'd take weeks to work their way out of him at best. He was subdued and moved slowly and spent most of his time in his quarters and everybody worried about him but nobody knew what to say to him.

Winta had decided Peli's droids were her new best friends, and they were almost never seen apart. Winta had decided she wanted her own quarters, the thought of having her own space so novel and exciting that there was no fear over being alone.

Well, that, and she had the droids with her.

She followed Peli around while Peli did repairs and learned about the ship's systems and Omera and Cara all about everything she learned every night at dinner.

Every morning, the haunted look in everyone's eyes seemed further away, so noticeable that the silent communal assumption the Armorer and Paz's eyes were doing the same thing even without witnesses.

There was a morning where, while everyone was crowding around the same counter trying to rehydrate their breakfast because nobody believed in turns when it came to food, Cobb absently leaned over and kissed Din's temple and Din turned to Cobb and playfully lifted Cobb's hand and bit Cobb's index finger ever so gently and they both laughed and then realized everyone was watching and laughed even harder that a feeling of recovery sunk it's claws into the ship and refused to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...was actually going to be a very short chapter and it _just kept going._
> 
> I regret nothing.


	34. Interlude: Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In space, nobody can hear your faith shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super short one, but a very important one nonetheless.

The Armorer say in the holo call room, the only place in the entire ship she felt actually offered any privacy.

Quarters were quarters, belonging to individuals but still a part of the collective. But the holo call room?

Nobody _ever_ so much as knocked on a holo call room door if it was locked.

It was the perfect place to let the faith she'd held onto for decades fall to pieces and then pick those pieces back up again before she went back to the rest of the ship.

She'd been finding herself in here more and more lately, the strange red lighting that almost felt _damp_ with its dimness and the way it felt more like a closet, an oversized cocoon that she could almost forget herself entirely in.

What was she doing here?

She'd left her covert, _her_ Tribe to fend for themselves on a strange planet that might be a target for lingering Imperial forces that even half a decade later had not conceded that the war was over and they had lost.

Was she not just like them?

She'd twisted their histories, told the Foundlings stories that made them sound like heroes instead of war criminals. She hadn't expected it to get this far, thought they'd all be found and slaughtered like everyone else before it could get this far. She'd wanted the children – _her_ children – to die with pride in their hearts instead of fear.

That didn't make it right.

Nothing could make this right.

She could have told them, could have exposed every single Elder as a criminal, as a group of dishonorable warriors who'd trusted the wrong person because they could not keep their power on their own.

She could have stripped the children and younger adults of their faith years ago, shattered the illusion she'd managed to bring to life, let them pick up the pieces and chart their own course.

But she didn't.

She wasn't about to lose everyone, wasn't about to let children be slaughtered and their culture be stolen _again_.

She wondered if the adherence to the Creed had ever been about being a true Mandalorian, or if it had been about ensuring no one could be recognized by a Foundling for who and what they really were and have everything fall apart then and there.

Even so, if she was on the ship and not in the holo call room, she kept her helmet on. She slept with her helmet on. She used the ship's sonic instead of the shower so she could keep her helmet on.

But here, in this closet that called itself a room, she clutched her helmet to her chest while silent tears burned as they made their way down her face, rocking herself back and forth while trying to accept that her time to do the right thing had passed and would never come for her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: the Armorer-becoming-metaphorical-caterpillar-goo chapter nobody asked for but everybody deserves.


	35. Interlude: Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Paz jacking off that's it that's the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter that literally only one person asked for but everyone's getting.
> 
> Another short one. I regret nothing.

He was alone in his quarters.

They'd bee just drifting for _weeks_ and while he wasn't sure where he'd even want to go given the choice, the stagnation was starting to carry a nervous undercurrent.

He was nowhere near recovered enough to spar anyone – including Winta, likely – and pacing the halls only seemed to make it worse.

So he was alone in his quarters, naked, the engine's heat enough to make him sweat. Even with his hair pulled back and off the nape of his neck, he could feel it sticking to his back, his forehead, his shoulders, everywhere it decided to fall because he'd given up taming it.

He loved the feeling, loved the way it made his skin burn without causing any damage, loved the way it reminded him of touching Din back on Sorgan.

Sorgan felt like a lifetime ago, felt like it was something an entirely different man went through, like the burning in his skin really did reduce him to ashes and someone else entirely was reborn.

Mostly, thought, it felt like touching Din.

Paz wasn't sure if it was the battle or the aftermath or something he'd wanted for a long, long time that he was finally letting himself _feel,_ but he wanted to touch Din again. Wanted Din to touch _him._

He wanted his fingertips to catalog every scar on Din's body, wanted to be able to feel a place where his skin had been broken and know every story behind them. He wanted to feel Din's fingertips, Din's palms, wanted to just reach over and _grab_ Din and never let go.

 _He_ wanted to be the one pressing gentle kisses to Din's forehead.

It was selfish, yes, and something he saw no room to act on.

But, right now, he was a lone and naked and _wanting._

He laid down on his back and closed his eyes and imagined Din there with him, could almost feel Din's knees on either side of his hips, hard and just was wanting and _there._

Paz felt his cock stir and bit his lip, a reflex. 

His breaths were shaky, almost multi-syllabic, as he reached down and grabbed his still-soft cock and convinced almost himself this wasn't his hand, but Din's.

Almost-Din wrapped his hand around Paz's cock, coaxed it to hardness with short, impatient strokes because he _wanted_ as much as Paz wanted, was as hungry for Paz as Paz was for Din.

Paz hissed as Almost-Din tightened his grip, not nearly enough precum to lubricate anything but Paz loved that burn, loved that pain, wanted to feel more, more, _more_ and Almost-Din obliged, twisting his hand a little with each stroke, irregular movements, sending Paz into an absolute frenzy with the lack of rhythm.

Paz arched his back, desperate for more pressure, more contact, more _everything_ and he willed the feeling of Almost-Din's hips and thighs crashing into his as Paz arched upward, upward, as much as his body would let him and Almost-Din _squeezed_ Paz and Paz started begging.

“Please,” he moaned to Almost-Din, “Please, fuck, _please!_ ”

Almost-Din coaxed Paz onto his stomach, then coaxed him onto his knees with his face still buried in the bed. Paz sucked on his own fingers of the hand that wasn't currently standing in for Din and he _reached._

He started with two fingers, the ones he'd used his spit as lube for, the side of his face against the mattress and his ass in the air, impatient and wanting and imagining that this was not some defiance of how bodies – especially injured bodies – worked but _Din_ working him open, flexing his fingers in ways he knew unraveled the last shreds of Paz's coherency.

Almost-Din made quick work of Paz's asshole, shoving a third finger in with little care, want overriding everything else and Paz _keened_ at the burn, loved the hurt, wanted to hurt, wanted to feel, wanted to remember for hours or _days_ that it was Almost-Din who he could still feel inside him. 

Paz's shoulder and back and jaw ached from the physical manipulation they were undergoing, but Almost-Din kept at it, kept fucking him into the mattress, drawing sounds from him that were so raw, so desperate, so _honest_ that Paz thought he might _actually_ scream Din's name for the whole damned ship to hear.

He shifted, desperate for a slight change of angle. His hair, pinned under his elbow without his knowledge or permission, _pulled itself_ as he shifted and suddenly it was _Cobb's hands_ doing the pulling, tilting Paz's face upward to _look_ at him, to run a thumb over his lower lip. It was _Cobb's hands_ stroking his temples and _Cobb's voice_ telling him how good he was and -

Paz's orgasm caught him by surprise; he bit the bedding to muffle the name he nearly called for, nearly started begging for more from.

Paz let his hands fall however they wanted to, twitching, as his hips fell back to the bed and his lungs heaved for more air.

“What just happened?” he asked his sheets.

He was alone in his quarters, naked, the ghosts of Almost-Din and Almost-Cobb lingering just long enough for Paz to finally, finally fall asleep instead of pass out from exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed something lighter after those last several chapters, honestly.
> 
> ~~alternative title: Almost-Topped by his King~~


	36. Repairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Paz need armor repairs; Cobb has his own shadows he's chasing; the Armorer always see a way forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're just a ping-poing ball and the entire galaxy is the table. It's Navarro's turn to get the game going again.

Cobb was late to dinner – not that there was a time for dinner, or that is was a group activity – but he was _hungry_ and had been for a while but Peli had asked for help with some of the ship's systems and he didn't know how to help, but he could hold things and hand them to her when she asked, so that's what he did.

He entered the mess hall to see the Armorer, Cara, and Omera all gathered around a holo map and realized they were going to resume the whole reason they'd started this thing to begin with.

He lost his appetite, the anxiety of _what if this was just a taste of what's to come_ seizing him from the inside and working its way outward.

He joined them instead.

“Ah, Cobb,” Cara greeted him without looking away from the map, “what are your thoughts on where we should go next?”

Cobb felt a displeased sound form in the very back of his throat and then die before it escaped.

“Where else do we have left?” he couldn't remember how much Din had told them, couldn't remember how many places were tied to the stories Din had told him back on Tatooine.

“Mostly Trask and Morak,” the Armorer tapped the map and it split in two and showed them two worlds, “Each with their own dangers, but each would be very good places to see what Din is capable of when he thinks history isn't watching.”

Cobb almost asked if that was it, but he realized Tatooine counted as the first planet in this mess and Sorgan had been...a lot.

“What about Nevarro?” Cobb asked.

“You picked me up on Nevarro,” Cara narrowed her eyes and looked at Cobb like he might look through him.

“Yes, and it rained the entire twenty minutes we were there,” Cobb returned the stare, “Point is, we saw you and got told off by the other guy but we didn't actually _see_ anything, not like we did on Sorgan.”

“What good would standing in the ashes of our covert have done?” Din surprised everyone as he entered the mess hall, “We know how that ended.”

“It didn't end, though,” Cobb was willing to argue this, “and from my understanding when you went back you managed to end the holdout Imperial occupation.”

“It was more complicated than that,” Din shivered.

“We can go to Nevarro to repair your and Paz's armor,” the Armorer said plainly, “or we can go to the covert and have half the covert try to follow us when they find out what happened.”

Din closed his eyes and furrowed his brows as if imagining how either of those options could play out.

“Nevarro,” he finally said, “If we're still going to Trask and Bo Katan and her Nite Owls wind up still being there, the fight will be too much chaos for us to avoid any losses.”

“What makes you think that?” Omera asked.

“Have you ever seen a group of Mandalorians fight each other?” Din shook his head, “Everyone winds up falling back to their own fighting styles which is fine one-on-one, but...”

“...but put a bunch of you on the same target and there's going to be some collateral,” Cara finished for him.

“It was not always that way,” the Armorer said.

Cobb saw Din's form tense even under his armor – the fact he was wearing his armor should have told him Din knew something was going on – and Din spun on his heel and left.

“I think,” Cobb said through gritted teeth, his anger taking him by surprise, “you've lost the right to tell them about how your people used to be.”

“Your input has been noted,” there was no change in the Armorer's tone or posture, “but the fact remains both Din and Paz both managed to compromise their armor.”

“And where will you get the Beskar to repair it?” Cara asked.

“Do not worry about that,” the Armorer did not sound as assuring as she probably thought she did.

–

Winta grabbed Omera and Cara by the hands and was screaming, “Cara you have to show me where you work!” while running towards the city as fast as she could.

Peli chuckled and shook her head as she watched them go.

The Mandalorians had been all kinds of huffy all day – and so had Cobb – but no one wanted to tell her what was going on and she knew better than to ask outright.

There was no good that was going to come out of today, and Peli wanted to stay well away from any potential fallout. 

–

Cobb had followed Din and Paz and the Armorer through an impossible series of tunnels, the walls periodically scarred with blaster marks or deep gashes that could only have been caused by some sort of tank.

Or, perhaps, Beskar being driven forward with the force of a jetpack.

Their footfalls were the only sounds, echoing. It felt so wrong, the silence; it felt like there should be screams and orders being shouted and weapons being fired.

Cobb was so deep in thought that he nearly missed a turn.

Paz held out an arm to guide Cobb the correct way without outright correcting him.

The forage, when they finally arrived, was cold and dark and sent a shiver down Cobb's spine.

“Din, Paz,” the Armorer addressed them, “leave your armor with me and leave me to my work.”

Din made quick work of slipping out of his armor, then his helmet, then helped Paz out of his armor.

Din nearly reached to grab Paz's helmet, but then he withdrew his hands and took a leap backwards, hands up in what was probably meant to be a peaceful gesture.

“I see,” the Armorer said, “Well, you know where all the rooms are, figure it out among yourselves.”

Cobb sensed they were dismissed, so he followed Din, who seemed to be following Paz.

Cobb grabbed Din's hand and squeezed. Din squeezed back and drew Cobb closer to him.

Paz took a sharp turn into what looked like nothing but shadows. Cobb braced to be guided into a wall, but the shadows gave way to another set of hallways lined with doors.

“Rooms,” Cobb said like it suddenly made sense.

“Well we didn't sleep in the halls,” Paz finally said something.

“Usually,” Din added. Paz made a sound that _almost_ sounded like a laugh and Cobb felt like he was an intruder here.

“Sorry,” Paz said suddenly.

“The Creed is still yours,” Din said in place of forgiveness.

“Is it?” Paz's shoulders dropped. He took his helmet off and held it out to the side and Cobb took it.

“I'll take this back to her,” Cobb said, “Take...take your time.”

“Hey,” Din caught Cobb's wrist and pulled Cobb towards him so he could kiss Cobb on the cheek, “thanks.”

“Always,” Cobb promised.

–

Paz wanted to run down the hallways, to open every door and see if maybe, just maybe, there were any holdouts who'd managed to flee early on and had returned and were still there, still waiting for the rest of their covert to return.

He knew he was deluding himself.

And even if there were, what would he do? Stand there, in front of them, without helmet, and tell them they could come home?

There was no home. Not here. Not anymore.

All he could see, all he could feel, all he could think of was who he had failed, who he had left behind, who'd been killed because he wasn't _**enough.**_

Din seemed to sense his warring thoughts because the next thing Paz knew, Din was standing next to him, their arms inches apart, eyes forward and chest rising and falling in such metered breaths he had to be counting the time between inhale and exhale.

“This was where the last stand was,” Paz told him.

“How terrible,” Din sounded like he meant it.

–

Cobb was worried he'd get lost trying to deliver Paz's helmet to the Armorer. This place was a maze and he'd been far more focused on Din than on the turns they'd taken.

Those hadn't just been rooms, those had been _private quarters._ Where Din and Paz's people had died at their most vulnerable.

They needed to go through whatever they needed to go through together.

Without Cobb.

And without the Armorer.

And so he'd take his chances in getting lost in what used to be their covert.

Thankfully, though, the sound of metal on metal echoed, though, and he used the echoes to tell which turns took him closer to the source of the sound.

–

Din had followed Paz to what Din seemed to remember being Paz's rooms – a sleeping area and a personal training area that, should the covert have ever gotten large enough to need more rooms, would have been walled off and converted into another room for someone else to sleep in.

That never came close to happening.

The door was half open with clear evidence of having been blasted through. The rooms were a disaster – blaster scorch marks and scrapes from Beskar plating covering nearly every inch.

Paz's cot – most of them had had cots, not proper beds – was also shot to hell and back. It looked ready to turn to dust if someone so much as thought about sitting on it.

Paz sank to his knees and put his palms on the ground and wept.

–

“There you are,” the Armorer said without looking up, “Helmet on the pile and go.”

“How-” Cobb started to ask.

“This is still my forage,” the Armorer told him, “I know everything that goes on in here.”

“And if I accuse you of being force-sensitive does something conveniently distracting happen, or do I not get off as lucky as Peli?” Cobb's question had bite.

“I had nothing to do with that,” the Armorer did not look up from her work.

Cobb made a sound like he didn't believe her.

But nor did he leave.

–

Din knew he was risking grave amounts of personal harm, but he'd risked more for less. He knelt down next to Paz and put on arm around him and tried not to brace himself for retaliation.

None came.

Instead, Paz leaned into Din, nearly put his entire weight against Din, so Din held him, wrapped both arms around him and tried to channel all the comfort he felt when Cobb did this for _him_ into what he could offer for Paz.

–

Cobb watched the Armorer work.

She seemed to want to avoid melting any of the pieces down – or even part of any of the pieces, but rather heat the damaged parts just enough to...what _was_ she going to do with the heated parts?

The armor he'd worn had been busted to all hell, but it hadn't had a problem holding up against, well, anything.

He'd come to suspect over the course of the half-decade he'd worn it that Mandalorians were so good at killing as much because of their armor as their skills. 

Killing was something you needed to practice to get good at, and the longer your armor held up, the more practice you tended to get.

He'd run because – and he'd never said so much as loud and tried everything in his power to avoid even thinking about it – he'd been a slave once and would rather die slowly in the desert than become a slave again.

But once he had the chance to fight back?

He'd rather die fighting to save the people who'd taken him in, taken him without question when they had every right to tell him to walk on, from suffering that fate that die alone in the desert.

When he found out Din – the impossible man who negotiated peace between people with hundreds of years of war between them, who got swallowed by monsters like it was just another work day – had had every ideal he'd managed to hold dear through his too-lonely existence shaped by someone who wanted to hide the ways she'd caused her own people to suffer, he'd decided then and there he was going to stay by Din until Din could untangle himself from the web of lies and chart his own course.

And if Din wanted him to stay after that?

Always.

–

Winta was sitting on Cara's work chair and spinning as fast as she could.

“Try not to make yourself sick,” Cara was trying not to laugh.

“I won't!” Winta promised as she kept spinning.

“A desk job,” Omera had known Cara's job was a desk job, but she couldn't resist teasing Cara about it.

“Well, the benefits were great,” Cara looped an arm around Omera's waist.

Omera chuckled softly and then Cara's words caught up with her, “Were?”

“Were,” Cara nodded.

“Were,” Omera repeated as she leaned into Cara and rested her head on her shoulder.

–

“Whatever you're trying to outrun,” the Armorer said to Cobb, “you won't do so by tearing my failings apart.”

“Last person who tried to outrun my past quite literally exploded,” Cobb's voice was strained with forced calm, “I'd like very much not to not see the proverbial same happen to Din.”

From the corner of her eye, the Armorer could see Cobb tugging at his shirt collar.

–

Cobb realized exactly where she was going to get the Beskar to repair Din and Paz's armor sets.

He wondered if she was going to let him live if he didn't take the subtle but obvious cue to get out and get out now.

Cobb held his ground.

–

Din didn't remember exactly how he'd come to be sitting against the ruined wall of Paz's old rooms with Paz's head in his lap, Paz sobbing while Din stroked his temple and kept one hand firmly on Paz's waist, but there he was.

There they were.

Paz's sobs had faded into uneven breaths that periodically had a wailing quality to them.

Din could _feel_ the pain that had happened here.

The suffering.

The _**loss.**_

If this was what it meant to be force-sensitive, he wondered how Grogu was able to find any happiness in a universe like this one.

–

Peli decided that, instead of working all day, waiting for everyone else to get back, she was going to take a nap.

She hadn't taken a nap since before the war, but from what she could remember, she liked naps.

–

Din's hand was threaded through Paz's hair while his others was cupped perfectly against the very top of Paz's hip while Paz laid on his side, eyes towards the door.

I was one of the most comforting things Paz had ever experienced.

“I don't hate you,” Paz had been trying to find the ability to say it out loud since Sorgan.

Tension melted out of Din and Paz felt terrible knowing _he caused it._ Worse, still, that even though Din still harbored some uncertainties, he _wanted_ to help Paz, wanted to comfort him even in the midst of the lowest moment of Paz's life.

“I hated the fact you've always been who I wanted to be,” it was easier to say when he didn't have the physical ability to turn and try to look at Din to gauge his reactions, “Hated how every time I looked at you I saw who I could have been if I hadn't given up on myself.”

Din was silent for a while before he asked, “And now?”

“You're my anchor,” Paz said it before he could let his fears make him back down.

Din's fingers flexed and dug into Paz just a little and Paz thought it might have been involuntary until Din didn't let go.

–

The Armorer was finished her work.

“Were they in the rooms when you left them?” she asked Cobb.

Cobb nodded, arms crossed and eyes steely blue.

The Armorer sighed and left to go collect her boys.

–

Peli swore everyone seemed different when they got back to the ship. Good different, bad different, tired different. 

Just. _All_ different.

But again, nobody seemed to want to tell her what had happened, and if asking earlier in the day had been a bad idea, asking _now_ was a terrible idea.

Still, that didn't stop her from asking, “What happened to the horns on your helmet?” when she noticed what was different about the Armorer.

The Armorer only looked between Din and Paz, he back squarely to Cobb.

And Peli understood.

Regardless of what the Armorer had done in the past, she'd give pieces of herself to see the future survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peli is life goals, honestly.
> 
> I did _not_ expect the last chapter to get so much attention, but I am _thrilled_ y'all are liking what I'm doing with poor Paz here.


	37. Another World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to finally tell everyone the full story of that happened on Morak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll see how this goes.

“Next time we stop on a planet with a market,” Peli said around a mouthful of food, “we're getting some fresh stuff.”

“That won't keep,” Cara was leaned back in her chair and picking at her food, “and where are we getting the credits?”

“Credits are easy to come by,” Peli drummed her fingers on the table, “Fix up a speeder, a ship, a house, easy. Something's always broken and wires are wires.”

“Speaking of wires,” Cara sat up and then slumped over the table, “I keep thinking about those cut wires you told me about, the ones back at the covert.”

“Same,” Peli kept drumming her fingers, “but I feel like with how...everything's been going...returning to the covert _now_ is going to cause problems.”

“Problems how?” Cara asked.

“I can't quite put words to it,” Peli sighed and stilled her fingers, “but they...we all need a victory of some sort.”

“Victory?” Cara stood up and stretched, “I have an idea.”

Peli left the last of her meal to follow Cara to see where she was going.

–

Someone was knocking.

“Mmph,” Cobb patted Din a few times, trying to convince Din to get it so he could stay under the warm covers.

“Nuu,” Din's face was in his pillow, “yer cl'ser.”

“Fine,” Cobb hauled himself up and undid the door locks, “You know we can have breakfast as late as we want, right?” he asked without looking at who was at the door.

“It's so late I wouldn't even call it breakfast at this point,” Cara told him, “Din, we're going to Morak.”

“Nuu,” Din's face was still in the pillow.

“No?” Cara crossed her arms and smirked, “Why no?”

Din shifted so his face was in Cara's general direction and told her, “They'll need to know the _entire_ story of what happened before we land on the planet.”

“Why do you think I woke you up to tell you?” Cara said with a laugh, “Get up, get dressed, get ready to tell the absolute weirdest thing we went through to get your kid back.”

Din groaned and waved her off.

“How much spotchka we gonna need?” Cobb asked after Cara left.

“How much we got left?” Din asked.

“That bad?” Cobb laid back down next to Din.

“That _weird_ ,” Din shivered.

Cobb made an understanding noise and rolled over to bury has face in Din's neck.

–

For the first time since they'd left Tatooine, everyone old enough to drink _planned_ to be in the mess hall at the same time.

Din was the second to last to arrive, Peli, Paz, the Armorer, Cara, and Omera sitting in a rough approximation of a circle, all the furniture pushed away so they could sit together. The Armorer was in her full armor; Paz still had his helmet on – only Din and Cobb had ever seen Paz's face and he seemed determined to keep it that way.

There was something _familiar_ about it.

“Where's Winta?” Din asked.

“Playing with the droi-playing with her friends,” Omera assured him, “She understands that sometimes adults need to exchange words without their children present.”

Cobb showed up with a large bottle of spotchka.

“Oh you've been holding out on us!” Peli exclaimed.

“Well based on how Cara was talking this morning they've also been holding out on us,” Cobb said as he sat down. He was grinning, fascinated, almost excited to hear whatever story was about to be told.

“Okay so,” Cara said as she took the spotchka from Cobb, “it started with a prison break.”

–

“So you sprung that guy from prison, locked all his associates up except the one you killed, lead the New Republic back to the place the guy thought he could hide out, had Cara _falsify a transfer,_ so you could have someone...what were you trying to do, exactly?” Cobb was trying to follow along.

“Access the database,” Cara had the bottle again, “to get on Gideon's ship.”

“So you went to,” Omera made a series of uncertain hand gestures, “an illegal Imperial mining operation to do so?”

“It had the database,” Din shrugged.

–

“Okay okay wait,” Omera's words were slurring a little around the edges, “so you land on the planet first and then figure out a way to get in?”

“One step at a time,” Din could feel his face flushing, warm from the alcohol and the embarrassment he was about to relive.

“So how'd you get in?” the Armorer asked, stone-cold sober.

“Well,” Din cleared his throat and took the bottle from Cara, “Mayfield were the ones who'd grab the least attention.”

“You?” Paz's head whipped around to stare at Din, the stare obvious even under his visor, “You're all....silver.”

“About that...” Din sighed.

–

When Din finished telling everyone about swapping his armor to sneak in and Paz had been so indignant about the whole thing that _he_ ripped off his own helmet and took the bottle from...was it Cobb or Omera?...and took a _gulp_ from it.

Cara couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed that hard. 

–

The whole thing hadn't been funny when it was going on, but time and good company and spotchka made it _hilarious._

“So I'm on top of the transport,” Din was leaning on Cobb and Cobb had one arm around Din, “and I can't quite tell the pirates that I want to see the whole damned operation blown to bits, too, so I'm fighting like hell while Mayfield is screaming about how he can't go any faster while everyone in front of and behind us have already been blown to bits.”

–

“We're watching, we're waiting, they're taking too damned long,” Cara was laying on the floor with her head in Omera's lap, “Like, _way_ too damned long,” she made an abrupt, waving gesture with one forearm, “and we can't see a damned thing.”

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Din suddenly felt far too sober, “it turns out to access the database they need to take a facial scan.”

“Oh shit,” Cara sat up, “So did Mayfield do it then?”

“No,” Din's voice was so quiet, so far away, “I did.”

–

“It was like everything he realized he did wrong while serving the Empire came out of him at once,” Din told everyone as Cobb stroked his hair, “He just. Shot the officer that had no remorse for the massacre he'd lead, or something, I didn't get a lot of details. And he just kept shooting and shooting and his whole body was _fierce_ like he'd tear the building apart brick by brick is that was what it took to rid Morak of the Empire's presence.”

“And he's still there now?” the Armorer asked, “On Morak?”

“Pretty sure of it,” Cara felt none of the humor she'd started the night with, “Shit, Din, I didn't...I didn't know I am so sorry.”

“I couldn't have come back to the covert after that,” Din sounded broken, “even if Mayfield assured me he could forget my face, I couldn't have come back.”

“What were his exact words?” the Armorer asked.

Din sounded empty when he said it.

It echoed the Armorer's words to him on Sorgan as she shoved Din and some bacta and Paz into a blacked-out hut.

–

None of this felt like it was leading up to a victory, Peli realized.

–

“We blew up the whole damned thing,” Din sounded proud, “The people of Morak don't have to sacrifice their bravest like that trying to stop the transport vehicles anymore.”

Okay, maybe one victory.

–

“So,” Cobb looked around the almost-still-a-circle, “we're going to Morak. How will we find him?”

“Oh,” Cara managed a chuckle despite everything, “we'll find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They just keep SITTING AROUND and TALKING and my gods will they just VISIT a PLANET _please_.
> 
> PS I take requests for oneshots go wild.


	38. Interlude: Something Like a Clan of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not called _liquid courage_ for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here they...go?

Cobb was in Paz's quarters, what was left of the bottle of spotchka in his hand. Din was also in Paz's quarters, his back against Cobb's front while Cobb wrapped his other arm across Din's chest and Din wrapped both his arms around that arm.

Paz was there, too, sitting on the far side of his bed with his back against the wall, legs hanging off because he was sitting so there was room for Din and Cobb to sit, too, if they wanted.

They hadn't talked about it, about going back to Paz's quarters; it had just _happened_ and the burn of spotchka in Cobb's system told him this was a fantastic idea.

Cobb nudged Din towards Paz, towards the bed and Din laid on his back, head in Paz's lap so Cobb sat down and made Din adjust until his legs were over Cobb's lap.

“Well I couldn't sleep like this,” Din told the both of them and Cobb chuckled.

Paz had his hands on Din, one on Din's stomach and one threaded through Din's hair and Din's eyes were closed and Cobb loved how _happy_ Din looked, wanted to remember that face for the rest of his life.

“I could,” Paz let the back of his head rest against the wall.

“Debatable,” Cobb shrugged. He hugged Din's legs with one arm and placed his other hand on Cobb's chest, forearm crossing over Paz's forearm.

“You really wore an Imperial uniform?” Paz asked.

“Guy who owned it before me sweat so much,” Din grimaced.

“I can't tell if you're a brave man or a fool,” Paz informed him.

“A brave man,” Cobb said at the same time Din said, “A fool.”

“I didn't _ask_ to be King,” Din pressed his head into Paz's lap a little, “nor did I ask to be a father.”

“I'm sorry,” Cobb wasn't sure what he was apologizing for but it felt right.

“You've been perfect,” Din told Cobb.

“What have I been?” Paz took the bottle from Cobb right after he asked the question.

“Complicated,” Din grabbed Paz's wrist and lowered the bottle away from Paz's lips. Paz made a dissatisfied noise but let Cobb take the bottle back and didn't protest when Cobb reached to put the bottle on the floor.

“Yours really was the first helmet I looked for,” Din reached up to put a palm against Paz's jaw, “Whole damned pile of loss and yours were the one I didn't want to see.”

“Why me?” Paz covered Din's hand with his own to keep it where it was.

“You've always kept me honest,” Din was speaking from something deep within his core, “Always managed to find my weakest points so I could patch them up after.”

“And now?” Paz knew it was a selfish question.

“Still keep me honest,” a small smile spread over Din's face, “Keep me grounded, keep connected to all the things I'd been so ready to cut loose and shed from my soul once I got Grogu to his people.”

“And him?” Paz worried he'd grossly overstepped a line he couldn't uncross by asking.

“Also keeps me honest,” Din grabbed Cobb's hand and kissed his knuckles, “Always knows just when I need to be tethered to keep me from floating off and getting lost in my own head.” 

A pause, and then Din asked, “What about me? What do I do for either of you.”

“You reminded me of all wild things in my heart I thought I'd killed to survive,” Cobb told him, “Reminded me there's still surprises left for me in this life.”

“You're impossible,” Paz said, “You're impossible and yet you're _right here_ , still being impossible, still being so humble and so _real._ ”

“I like your smile,” Cobb rushed his thumb over Din's lips.

“I like your jawline,” Din reached up to brush his fingertips across Cobb's jaw, “your neck,” then he reached over his own shoulder to grab the side of Paz's thigh, the only thing he could reach from that angle, “and I like your hips.”

“You've been looking,” Paz threaded his fingers through Din's hair and gave an experimental tug and a soft gasp escaped Din.

“And you haven't?” Din teased.

Paz hummed and traces his nails from Din's collarbone to his hip bone and Cobb ran _his_ fingernails from Paz's wrist to as far as he could reach without having to move Din and Paz closed his eyes and his jaw went slack, relaxed.

“And you,” Paz turned his head towards Cobb, a lazy thing, and opened his eyes halfway, “you're just so _kind_ but it's that earned type of kind where you know you could have been a cruel man but chose _not that._ ”

Cobb _blushed_ and ducked his chin and Din said, “Isn't he adorable when he does that?”

“He is,” Paz agreed, “Can I touch him?”

“Well don't ask _me_!” Din laughed.

“Cobb,” Paz was _smiling_ , “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” Cobb was smiling, too, then Din was off the bed for a moment and Cobb was on his knees on Paz's bed facing Paz and Din and Paz moved away from the wall just far enough for Din to straddle Paz's lap while Cobb moved towards the both of them and Paz had one arm around Cobb's almost too-thin waist and the other around Din and Paz _kissed_ Cobb and Din gasped and Cobb grabbed Din's ass and chuckled.

“Fuck,” Paz breathed.

“When we haven't been drinking,” Din seemed to realize what he was saying as he said it. Paz _keened_ and Cobb nodded and Din kissed Paz and Paz pulled Din into him as close as he could and Cobb asked Paz is he could touch, too, and Paz said yes and Cobb bit the spot where Paz's neck and shoulder met.

Their hand explored each other and their lips explored each other's necks and jawlines and collar bones. 

“I love your hair,” Din was running his fingers through Paz's hair from root to tip, “I didn't expect it to be so long.”

“Call it vanity,” Paz told him.

“What about beautiful?” Cobb asked and he, too, grabbed a length of Paz's hair but he _pulled_ and Paz unleashed a string of pleading curses in more languages than Cobb had heard in his life.

“Call it whatever you want if you keep doing that,” Paz managed.

Din put both his hands on Paz's hips and _squeezed_ and Cobb _bit_ Paz's neck and Paz thought the electric feeling might make him _sob_ if Cobb did that again but Paz _wanted_ Cobb to do that again and again and _again_. 

They were lost, Cobb realized, the three of them, so lost in their own lives, the slave boy and the war orphans who'd grown up without anything to anchor them to themselves besides their faith and they'd all had their faith shattered in one way or another and at some base level they all _knew this_ about each other and that's why they were all there, why they'd found each other, why they _kept_ falling each other and Cobb realized he wanted nothing more than the universe than to be lost _exactly like this._

Because this lost. This was the lost that freed souls from the chains that bound people to lesser versions of themselves, the type of lost where you found you people, your _clan._

Cobb had found his clan.

The sentiment settled in his bones as Din kissed him something frantic and Paz reached around to run his hand down Cobb's back and grab Cobb's ass.

This went on, the alcohol fading and the need for sleep trying to gain purchase on all three of them. Din yawned and apologized and Paz kissed Din's temple and told him to get some sleep.

“Told you,” Din said through another yawn, “can't sleep here.”

Paz's shoulders dropped and Cobb grabbed both Din and Paz by the wrist and pulled them to his and Din's quarters where they all three _could_ fit and Paz smiled the entire way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahahaha no it's more sitting and talking and no we're not talking about the chapter title
> 
> Just wait until they're sober and find themselves in the same room now.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! @chelseadearfromao3


	39. Road to Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The line between right and wrong tends to get blurred when you're desperate for peace. Mayfeld learned this too late, but that doesn't mean he can't atone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A planet! An actual planet!!

This planet had a wet heat that Cobb decided he hated.

Dry heat was one thing. Dry heat waited until you started exerting yourself to start drawing the moisture from your body; this wet heat seemed determined to remove any and all excess liquid through Cobb's skin as he stood there, waiting for everyone else to decide which direction they should go.

“So if he's still on the planet,” Omera was asking Din, “would he try to integrate, or would he be on his own?”

“Somewhere in the middle,” Din's voice filtered through his helmet, “Not helpful, I know.”

“Cara, last night you were sure we'll find him,” the Armorer _had_ to be sweating to death in her leather and furs, “Are you still sure?”

“Or was it the spotchka talking?” Peli's tone was a joking one.

“Still sure,” Cara seemed perfectly comfortable, “Once word starts going around that _three_ Mandalorians are here, he'll show up.”

“Oh great,” Paz locked his gun in place, “I love being bait.”

–

There were three Mandalorians on the planet. One was awful, dealing with two was somehow worse, but now there were _three?_

Mayfeld thought prison was the worst time of his life, but the notion of _three Mandalorians traveling together to the planet he was living his new life on_ was likely to give that sentiment a run for it.

–

“It's getting late,” Peli was staring directly into the sun, “and while I'm sure word gets around fast, maybe we don't want to walk all night, too.”

The plan had sounded great when they landed: start walking, stick just close enough to villages to not appear to be a threat but also be _seen._ People talk, everyone had reasoned, so the more people who saw them, the more talking would happen.

But Peli was tired of walking and wanted _food_ and maybe even some sleep, too, if she could sleep on the ground.

“Peli has a point,” Paz agreed, “though, if we want everyone here to think _all three of us_ are Mandalorians and not wearing stolen armor...”

“We're going to have to forgo dinner,” the Armorer finished.

“Or at least eat it in peace,” Din was looking up.

“Are you seriously suggesting the three of us find private trees to eat in?” Paz asked.

“I'm mostly suggesting we don't skip food _and_ water if we're going to do this again tomorrow,” Din crossed his arms.

“I,” Paz took half a step back, “Okay, yeah, trees it is.”

–

It felt a little like luck that, before they picked a spot to make camp for the night, some villagers flagged them down and invited them to eat with them.

Something about it rubbed Cobb the wrong way, though; they hadn't been so much as flagged down all day despite being closer to a number of people.

This village was the biggest they'd seen all day, and there was a _huge_ building right in the middle of it that seemed to Cobb to be a roof on stilts than it did a _building_.

When Cara and Din both stopped in their tracks, he could just _feel_ that they'd been flagged down because Mayfeld had told someone to.

“Mayfeld!” Cara waved both arms over her head, “Couldn't come say hi like a normal person?”

“Nah,” a man who must have been Mayfeld called back.

They closed the distance before anyone said anything again.

“Officer Dune,” Mayfeld saluted Cara, “Mando.”

Cobb had almost forgotten what it was like to hear someone call Din _Mando._ It felt...strange. Almost like Din had spent who-knew-how-long giving up some of his personal agency in the name of...of what exactly? Work?

“Mayfeld,” Din nodded, “Seems you've settled in nicely.”

“Eh,” Mayfeld shrugged, “Turns out some people recognized me as one of the guys who blew up the base and they...welcomed me into their people.”

“Ah,” was all Din said.

“So they got me and they keep asking about the other guy, the one wrapped in silver,” Mayfeld kept talking, “And I keep tryin' to explain to them that it isn't silver and they'll probably never see him again, so you can imagine how shocked everyone was when you show up with two more Mandalorians in tow.”

“It's a long story,” Din sighed.

“Always is,” Mayfeld shook his head, “Any of you hungry?”

“Starving,” Peli spoke up.

–

This was the most uncomfortable dinner Paz had ever attended.

Not that he had attended many at all, so he didn't have much of a frame of reference, but sitting with the people he was supposed to be traveling with scattered all over this long table meant for the entire village to sit at, one stranger on each side, watching everyone but Din and the Armorer eat, that was...definitely uncomfortable.

Slowly, as the night fumbled on, the villagers left to tend to whatever they needed to tend to before they went to bed for the night. When it was just them and Mayfeld left at the communal table, Mayfeld rose to his feet and jerked his head and everyone got up and followed him into a small building that seemed to be wood and plant fibers with a salvaged door somehow wired into the plant matter.

Paz must have been staring at the door harder than he thought, because Mayfeld said, “Yeah, got me for a while, too. Now, be honest with me here, did you two change your minds?”

“You're still listed as dead, Migs,” Cara told him, “No, we're here for, ah, well...”

“Long story?” Mayfeld – or was his name Migs? – asked.

It was a tight squeeze to get everyone in the house. Omera sat down almost immediately and Winta sat on Omera's lap and Omera held her close. Peli, Din, and the Armorer sat down as well, then Mayfeld sat down. Paz, Cobb, and Cara remained standing.

Cara looked to Din, who sighed heavily and took his helmet off and started telling Mayfeld what happened after Din and Cara had left.

–

Tonight was one of those times where every single event between Morak and, well, Morak again, now, hit Din square in the chest when he pulled them into focus, then hit him again when he relayed the story.

“So you all are here to see what Din's done with his life,” Mayfeld looked ready to run.

“Where someone has been tends to be the best way to see where they are going,” the Armorer said.

“But mommy,” Winta wriggled in Omera's lap so she could look at her mom, “I thought we don't ask people where they've been, only where they're going.”

Din didn't feel like people.

“Yes, honey,” Omera hugged Winta a little tighter, “but like any rule, there are exceptions.”

“Why Din?” Winta asked.

“Mando, you got a _name_?” Mayfeld interrupted, “And, hey, kid – what's your name?”

“Winta,” Winta wasn't afraid of Mayfeld; most people were instinctively at least wary of Mayfeld.

Winta trusted _Din,_ Din realized, and if Din wasn't afraid of Mayfeld, Winta isn't afraid of Mayfeld.

Din felt it like another hit to the chest.

“Winta,” Mayfeld told her, “Mando here is an exception to every rule in the galaxy.”

Din snorted at Mayfeld refusal to use his name.

“You are, Mando!” Mayfeld was actively resisting speaking any louder than he had been, “Hell, you managed to break yourself out of prison.”

“You what?” at least three people asked.

Din just shrugged.

“Winta,” Omera said gently, “Din's found himself in a difficult situation and he needs some help figuring out where he's going.”

“Ah,” Winta said like she understood.

Paz put a hand on Din's shoulder and Din leaned his head over so his cheek pressed against the back of Paz's glove. Mayfeld looked between Paz and Din and smiled just a little bit like he'd just been told a secret.

“So what about you, Mayfeld?” Cara asked, “Where are you going?”

“Well,” Mayfeld reached up and scratched the back of his neck, “there's still some Empire presence here, so I've been helping the locals flush them out.”

Cara looked impressed.

“Got a lot of things off my chest,” Mayfeld told everyone, “but it's still heavy.”

“A lot of people say that,” Winta sounded like she might fall asleep mid-sentence, “What does it mean?”

“It means I've done a lot of things I wouldn't have done if I'd known everything I know now,” Mayfeld told her, “things I can't take back.”

“What can you do?” Winta asked.

It amazed Din that, despite everything, Winta had kept her childhood curiosity about her.

He amended his ideal version of himself from being the man who pulled children from the wreckage to the man who pulled children from the wreckage and then _let them stay children._

This universe needed the innocence of children if it was going to recover from all the wars it seemed to fight back-to-back.

–

“It'll be crowded,” Mayfeld looked around his house, “but you're welcome to sleep here if you want.”

“Not nearly as crowded as the speeder,” Peli yawned, “thanks.”

There was a lot of shuffling and rearranging themselves, but they managed to all find a spot to sleep.

Not lay down – the Mandalorian in red was sitting up with her legs crossed and her head just barely resting against the wall and the one who looked like he might be half armor was standing up, back to the door – but at least get in a position where they swore they'd be able to sleep in.

Mayfeld suspected the big Mandalorian was keeping watch and he couldn't blame him, not really, especially not after he'd mentioned Imperials still being here.

All the conversations of the night kept replaying in his head, from Mando being a _King_ to the little girl's questions to all these strangers' questions about Mando leading them here. It was a lot to process; it was beyond his understanding.

He'd stayed on Morak because he'd seen what the people he thought were doing the right thing had put them through. This stripping of their world, the dead that seemed left on the side of the road that were actually collected and mourned every night once the transport vehicles had stopped coming because dark had settled, this _hate_ that had roots in righteousness rather than fear.

He'd joined the Empire because he'd believed they were doing the right thing; he believed that, believed that fighting alongside his Imperial brothers-in-arms would fix the corruption that had starved people from the bottom up. The lowest always went first – the poor, the sick, those who couldn't or didn't know how to communicate with everyone else – and once the lowest were gone the next layer of undesirables became the next sacrifices in the name of building a better world.

And then he realized he'd joined the side that was guilty of those crimes.

But he'd been too much of a coward, then, too afraid to go hungry or be killed for desertion to do what he'd learned was right, so he took the easy way out and continued doing what he'd been doing, morality be damned.

Crime had been easy, after the war. He'd been living with his sins for so long that they'd become a part of who he was.

And then Mando came along for what Mayfeld thought was going to be the last time and showed him the impossible.

Showed him that the chance to do the right thing was always waiting for you.

“Mayfeld!” Cara shattered the silence, “You're thinking so loud you're going to keep us all up.”

“It's his house,” someone else – Peli, he thought, “If he wants to keep us up all night thinking that's his right.”

Someone else – Mayfeld couldn't tell who – chuckled.

Mayfeld decided, against any better judgment, to take everything he'd just thought and say it out loud.

–

Somebody was snoring.

Cara couldn't tell who – every time she'd slept communal-style like this, _someone_ snored – but she _could_ tell most everyone was asleep.

She realized she was genuinely glad she'd let Mayfeld die in the explosion. Whoever emerged in his place turned out to be a good man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mayfeld ain't so bad after all


	40. Din's Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only takes one misstep to create a disastrous domino effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens on Morak, stays on Morak.

Paz wouldn't call himself graceful, not at all. He'd never had a need for grace; he was strength and power and authority. If he walked into corners and fell down river banks or, you know, managed to roll the speeder off a cliff when it suddenly died instead of managing to let it glide until it stopped, no one was going to say anything.

Usually.

“So,” Mayfeld coughed, “wanna go over how we got here again?”

Paz looked around the cell they – plus Din – were being held in and shrugged, the fact his hands were cuffed behind his back making the gesture incredibly not meaningful.

–

“All three of them?” Cobb asked, “How the hell did you two lose all three of them?”

The after-breakfast plan had made a lot of sense: Peli, Omera, Winta, and Cobb would stay in the village while Mayfeld showed Din, Paz, the Armorer, and Cara the spots that were most problematic and see if they could come up with a plan.

Peli would help fix up speeders that looked like they were held together with parts from somehow more broken speeders. Winta would rest. Omera would see how the villages defenses were set up. Cobb would see how leadership was treating its people.

A nice, sensible plan where everyone played on their strengths.

“Paz rolled the speeder,” Cara was trying to massage her neck and looked like she was failing, “How the hell do you roll a speeder like that?”

“It's easier than you'd think,” Peli sighed, “Where are they?”

“I don't know,” the Armorer sounded like she was also in pain, “We were fine one second and the next I'm bouncing down a cliff trying to grab onto something so I don't find out what's at the cliff base.”

“We were both knocked out,” Cara gestured between them, “My head's spinning.”

“We were pretty far apart,” the Armorer added, “horizontally and vertically.”

“And the other three were just,” Cara sounded like she might choke on a sob if she said much more.

“Nowhere to be seen,” the Armorer finished for her, “We looked, but it's going to be faster to get another speeder and look for them that way.”

“Imps,” one of the villagers growled, “Imps took them.”

“If we heard about the Mandalorian who helped save us,” another villager said, “they likely heard about the Mandalorian who helped blow up their mining operation.”

“Shit,” Cara hissed, “That's what I was afraid of.”

“We have to go find them,” Cobb said.

“That's the general idea,” the Armorer looked like, if she sat down, she'd be sitting for hours, “but we'll need a speeder.”

“We'll need more than a speeder,” Omera said, “If we find them and free them but don't destroy the ability for whoever took them to call for back up, we might as well just hand ourselves over.”

“You think we're not strong enough,” it sounded like an accusation coming from the Armorer.

“I think you look dead on your feet,” Peli was quick to say, “and that we don't _know_ the numbers we'd be facing. And even if we _did_ rescue them _and_ escape the planet, who knows how many villages they'd tear apart trying to find us.”

“Fuck,” Cobb stomped his foot on the ground, “Fuck, you're right.”

“So what _do _we do?” Peli asked, “We can't just leave them out there.”__

__“As much as I hate to say it,” Cara's eyes were a little glassy, “I think we're going to have to let them get out of this one.”_ _

__“Din's apparently broken out of prison once before,” Peli pointed out, “We're going to have to hope he can do it again.”_ _

__Cobb hated this._ _

__It had seemed like such a nice plan this morning._ _

__–_ _

__“If I ever let you drive again,” Din kept testing his bonds, “it will be because I have something terminal and want to go out kicking and screaming instead of just waiting.”_ _

__“If I ever ask to drive again, it will be for the same reason,” Paz had discovered he was bound around the ankles when he tried to take a step and fell on his helmet instead._ _

__“Are you two always like this?” Mayfeld groaned._ _

__“Yeah,” Din tried to shrug and failed._ _

__Silence, and then._ _

__“Where are we?” Paz asked._ _

__“Somewhere with no windows,” Din noted._ _

__“Or doors,” Mayfeld added._ _

__“Or lights,” Din said like anyone could have missed that part. Even with his helmet on, the scans didn't help him understand where they were or what they might be up against._ _

__More silence._ _

__“It's just rope bonds.”_ _

__Even more silence._ _

__“Hey Paz.”_ _

__“Hey Din.”_ _

__“How thoroughly were you searched?”_ _

__“Not too deep.”_ _

__More silence._ _

__Din let himself fall forward and roll towards Paz, overshooting and rolling halfway onto Paz._ _

__“Time and a place, you two,” Mayfeld stared at the ceiling._ _

__“Not what it looks like,” Paz said as Din wriggled to scoot down Paz's back and start feeling around Paz's thigh despite the cup._ _

__“Well,” Din grunted, “it is, but not in this exact moment.”_ _

__“Were you this graceless when you broke out last time?” Mayfeld asked._ _

__“Last time I wasn't bound like this,” Din said through gritted teeth, “You all didn't have time or resources to tie me up, just locked me in a cell.”_ _

__“He threw you in prison and you worked with him _again_?” Paz demanded an answer._ _

__“I broke out,” Din reminded Paz, “and it wasn't personal.”_ _

__“Wasn't-” Paz made a choked off sound._ _

__“Look,” Din stopped wriggling to think about what he was saying, “Bounties. They blur a lot of lines between right and wrong, friend and foe. You have to trust your instinct, and if your instinct is wrong, you have to use it as a moment to redo your entire mental map of how everyone you've ever encountered related to each other, and you generally have a couple of heartbeats to do so.”_ _

__Silence, save for Beskar scraping against Beskar._ _

__“I would have made a terrible beroya.”_ _

__“You're a warrior, Paz.”_ _

__“What's a beroya?”_ _

__A pause._ _

__“Ah. Mando here's a beroya., then. Still don't know what it means. King?”_ _

__“Bounty hunter,” Din corrected._ _

__“Aren't you all bounty hunters?”_ _

__A scoff from Paz, and then, “Apparently some of us don't have the temper for it.”_ _

__“Got it!”_ _

__“Got what?”_ _

__Din rolled back over, one of Paz's hidden knives in his hand._ _

__“Why do you think they let you keep your helmets but took your guns and jet packs?” Mayfeld was staring at the knife, “We were _unconscious,_ they could have done anything, could have taken anything.”_ _

__“Unless someone's inside,” Din realized as he rolled over to start cutting Paz's bonds. It was an awkward thing, wrist to wrist with armor in the way at every possible juncture._ _

__“A spy?” Mayfeld asked, “You think there's a spy involved?”_ _

__“Nothing surprises me anymore,” Din grunted._ _

__“Challenge accepted,” Paz said under his breath._ _

__“Time and a _place_!”_ _

__“I'm good!” Paz exclaimed and Din rolled off. Paz took the knife from Din, cut his ankle bonds, then cut Din free, and finally cut Mayfeld free._ _

__“Okay,” Din looked around, “now for the cell.”_ _

__They all started touching the walls, trying to find a weak point or anything that might give them a clue as to how to get out. The walls were uneven, almost soft, but some parts were sharp. There was no telling where one wall ended and another began, almost as if the cell was a circle._ _

__Footfalls started coming from the outside._ _

__“Still yourselves,” Din commanded, and everyone did. Din listened, listened closely, determined what direction the footsteps were coming from._ _

__And he ran shoulder-first into the wall in the direction of the footfalls. The ceiling shook bits of dirt loose._ _

__“Count of three?” Paz asked._ _

__“One,” Din started counting._ _

__“Ah hell,” Mayfeld got ready to ram the wall with them._ _

__“Two,” Paz said._ _

__“Three!” Mayfeld called out._ _

__They hit the wall together and it _caved_ with the pressure._ _

__“It's just plants,” Mayfeld realized, “keep pushing.”_ _

__And so they did._ _

__–_ _

__When they finally pushed through, they all fell shoulder-first, the light blinding them for a moment they didn't have because someone was already screaming for backup._ _

__Mayfeld didn't need to be told to get on his feet; he was up and running and the Mandalorians were following him._ _

__“Do you know where we are?” the big one asked._ _

__“Nope!” Mayfeld called back to him._ _

__All he wanted was to not be there when backup arrived._ _

__“It looks like we're underground,” Mando pointed out, “and lights have been strung onto the compact dirt ceilings._ _

__“So?” Mayfeld asked._ _

__“So if we can find our jet packs we can try just going up,” Mando explained._ _

__“One, that is a terrible idea,” Mayfeld informed him, “Second, where does that leave me, and _c,_ I have a feeling we're about to try that anyways.”_ _

__“One, second, c,” the big one said._ _

__“Oh shut it,” Mayfeld snapped._ _

__They kept running; if they ran into a guard, whoever was closest knocked them out._ _

__Mayfeld started letting the Mandalorians take the lead; their armored gloves seemed incredibly effective when it came to single-hit unconsciousness._ _

__–_ _

__“Stairs!” Paz barked, “I see stairs!”_ _

__Stairs seemed like both a good sign and a terrible trap, enclosed on all sides except the entrance and exit points._ _

__They took the stairs._ _

__The next level was also underground, but it was wide open, compact dirt and a scattering of chairs and cooking supplies and bedding and ad hoc lamps._ _

__And a lot of people._ _

__Paz cursed in every language he knew as he tried to think of a way out of this._ _

__It hadn't been terribly long since he was in this position, hadn't been very long at all since he thought he was staring down his death at the hands of Imperials._ _

__He took a deep breath but before he could charge someone called, “Hey, big guy!” and Paz _looked_ despite all his training and he was so, so glad he did._ _

__If he hadn't, his gun would have hit him in the head._ _

__“A spy!” Paz exclaimed as he locked his gun on and started firing._ _

__“Come on!” the gun-tosser waved for them to follow._ _

__And so they did._ _

__–_ _

__“So,” Din said as he made sure his jet pack was secure, “who are you?”_ _

__“My name doesn't matter,” the gun thrower said, “All you need to know is after the factory explosion, almost all of the survivors relocated _here_ to try to rebuild.”_ _

__“And you're helping us out why?” Mayfeld asked. “Not complaining, to be clear.”_ _

__“Because of you, sir, the one they call the betrayer” the gun thrower said to Mayfeld, “And you, the one they call the silver ghost.”_ _

__“Huh?” was all Mayfeld could say._ _

__“Funny thing about almost getting blown to bits,” the gun thrower tossed Din his blaster, “is you start to think about if you're doing things for the right reasons or if you're doing them because they're what's easy.”_ _

__“I know that one,” Mayfeld sympathized, “Come with us.”_ _

__“I can't,” the gun thrower shook his head._ _

__“Why not?” Mando asked._ _

__“I,” the gun thrower faltered and looked down, “They're getting more bold, more empowered. This new base, it has to be...”_ _

__“Has to be what?” Mayfeld asked._ _

__“There's explosives not terribly far from the last set of steps,” the gun tosser sounded terrified, “This place has to be buried.”_ _

__“Any other prisoners?” Din asked._ _

__“No,” the gun tosser shook his head, “I'm sure of it.”_ _

__“Alright,” Din tossed his blaster from hand to hand a few times, “Let's roll.”_ _

__“Seriously?” Mayfeld dug his feet in, unwilling to leave someone who wanted to do better behind._ _

__“Seriously,” Din said, “Paz, do your thing.”_ _

__Paz knocked the gun tosser out and slung him over his shoulder._ _

__“Okay,” Mayfeld conceded._ _

__“We're still going to blow this place up,” Mando assured him as they all started running._ _

__“How?” Mayfeld asked._ _

__“Let's just say it's my turn to play with the explosives,” Din sounded way too excited about this._ _

__–_ _

__Din was alive._ _

__Covered in dirt so badly he could feel it in the joints of his armor, under his helmet, in his shoes, somehow under his blacks, but alive._ _

__“Jet packs,” Mayfeld shook his head, “You _actually_ flew through twenty feet of dirt as it tried to swallow you.”_ _

__“Easier than escaping a dragon,” Din shrugged._ _

__“A dra-” Mayfeld stood there, jaw slack and eyes wide, “You're insane.”_ _

__“Impossible,” Paz said, “Din's _impossible,_ not insane.”_ _

__“Yeah sure we can use that word,” Mayfeld threw his arms up, “Now come on, they've got speeders and big guy, you are not allowed anywhere near the steering.”_ _

__It was only about twenty paces to the speeder, but Din spent every single one of them trying to shake out _some_ of the dirt._ _

__–_ _

__Cara felt the tremors under her feet._ _

__She doubted anyone else noticed them; she'd become so sensitive to them during her time as a soldier that the ability to know when a bomb had gone off within a few miles of her position._ _

__She immediately started scanning the skyline for the tell-tale smoke._ _

__Due west, there it was._ _

__“Cobb,” she ran to get Cobb first, “Cobb, I think we know where they were being held.”_ _

__“Were?” Cobb managed to stand up and turn to face Cara in the the same movement. Cara pointed and Cobb's eyes followed and he went, “Ah, yes, were.”_ _

__“Let's hope,” Peli had come over when she saw Cara running, “that if they have a getaway speeder someone who isn't Paz is able to drive it.”_ _

__Cara was so rarely one for hope without reason behind it, but she figured her neck was reason enough to hope Peli was right._ _

__There weren't enough med kits in the universe for sore neck muscles._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New team motto: If it seems like a good idea, take it out with the trash and start all over.
> 
> Also, this may yet run past 60 chapters


	41. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well, reallly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one!

Din hoped he never came to see Cobb's hugs as ordinary.

He hoped this as Cobb was attempting to hug him so tight he might break Din's ribs, even with his armor on.

“What happened?” he asked, “And why are you covered in dirt?”

“And why is Paz carrying an Imp grunt?” Cara asked.

“Oh man,” Mayfeld laughed, “have we got a story for you.”

“Paz Vizsla get _away_ from that speeder,” the Armorer barked.

“I am just stepping off of it!” Paz fired back.

“Come on,” Mayfeld clapped a hand on Paz's shoulder and a hand on Din's shoulder, “And bring the grunt.”

–

Mayfeld wondered if his hut was going to feel too big when everyone finally left.

It was only day two and everyone was already _fast_ at piling into his home and making themselves comfortable.

The big one laid the gun tosser on the ground gently, cradling his neck and head. Mayfeld was impressed by the show of care and caution, both because of the big one's size and, well, he really wasn't that graceful.

Cobb was glued to Mando to the point of pulling Mando into his lap despite the dirt Mando was caked in and kept pressing silent, almost-subtle kisses to the back of Mando's head.

It was so weird to see him take the helmet off, nearly gave him the heebie-jeebies.

“So after Paz nearly got us killed,” Cara said once everyone settled, “What happened?”

“Well,” Mando started talking and Mayfeld braced himself for what was going to sound absolutely ridiculous when it was trying to be explained to people who weren't there for it.

–

“He saved your lives and you knocked him out?” Omera asked.

“He was going to blow himself up,” Paz explained, “To end Imperial occupation of this planet entirely, he was willing to sacrifice himself.”

“Funny what meeting your heroes will do,” Peli quipped.

–

 _“Your turn??”_ Cobb was indignant, “When did you start taking turns looking death in the face?”

“About an hour ago,” Din shrugged but then leaned his head back so it was against Cobb's cheek.

–

“So what now?” Omera asked when the story was over.

“We can stay and help,” Din suggested.

“No,” Mayfeld told them, “You all...Mando...you have something much bigger than all of us waiting for you, and it's not here.”

Din huffed but didn't say anything.

“You leave chaos in your wake wherever you go,” Mayfeld continued, “but it's the type of chaos that makes places better, makes _people_ better.”

“What about you?” Din asked.

“I'm going to stay here,” Mayfeld sounded so, so firm in that statement, “make sure this gun tosser here and I have rooted out the last of those bastards.”

“Gun tosser?” Peli asked.

“Oh,” Paz lifted his gun and looked at it and realized they'd skipped that detail, “He literally tossed my gun at me.”

Peli whistled, a long, low sound like she was impressed but also horrified.

That was the appropriate response, really.

–

 _Peli_ drove them back to the ship.

“You're a hero here,” Mayfeld told Din as they were about to part ways, “That's your legacy here, a hero who gets people to see the better options they'd long thought discarded, and you've liberated an entire planet from the ripples you caused.”

Din stammered a little bit but didn't quite get any words out.

“Fitting,” Mayfeld punched Din's shoulder gently, “for a King. Now get going, you've got more you need to do and I know it.”

“Thanks,” Din managed to say, “Take care of yourself.”

“Only if you stop playing with explosives,” Mayfeld grinned.

“No promises,” Din said with a laugh.

“Yes promises,” Cobb sighed and took Din by the hand.

“A fifty-fifty chance of promise,” Paz put a hand on Din's shoulder and squeezed.

“Compromise,” Mayfeld nodded.

“You really are impossible,” Cobb shook his head.

Mayfeld watched as they left and wondered how the universe was going to be shaped in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd they're off again!


	42. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paz and Din are a danger to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But like. Not in a bad way. In theory.

This was a terrible idea.

They'd barely survived their last good idea and not they were actively working on a terrible one.

It had started with a question, just one, but it had been a loaded question to begin with.

“How did both of you damage your Beskar again?”

It had been Peli who'd asked it, but the Armorer had been right there and she'd demanded to see the damage.

They'd been back on the ship maybe three minutes.

“Same question Peli asked with more force behind it,” the Armorer sighed as she said it.

“Question,” Cara said with her mouth full, “How is it I've known you for almost a _year_ at this point and your armor remained damage-free until maybe a month ago?”

“I have a theory,” Omera was looking at Paz. Cara followed her line of sight and laughed.

“If you two keep going at this rate we're going to need to start carrying Beskar with us,” the Armorer shook her head.

“Where would we get more Beskar?” Peli asked.

Even though all three Mandalorians were staring at Peli, Cobb could _feel_ the weight behind their stares. 

“What happened to the whole _do we really want everyone trying to follow us_ line of thought?” Cobb asked.

“Do _you_ have a better idea on how to keep their armor from damage?” the Armorer asked and Paz couched and Din punched Paz's shoulder, Din's hand plating causing sparks as it made contact with Paz's armor.

“I have a few ideas,” Cobb grumbled, “Although, I have to agree with Peli's question: _How?_ ”

“Normally damage to a Mandalorian's armor is cosmetic,” the Armorer sounded unimpressed, “Normally.”

“Then how the hell was the set I had so banged up?” Cobb asked.

“It was an alloy,” Din told him, “Hardy, but not _as_ durable.”

Cobb frowned.

“If Beskar is the only thing that can damage Beskar, why are you so worried about their damage?” Cara asked.

“Paz,” the Armorer held out one hand, “and Din.”

They grumbled while Din took off his hand plate and Paz surrendered a part of his shoulder armor.

The Armorer took each piece, banged them corner to corner three times in rapid succession, threw the shoulder plating in the air, swiped Din's blaster, and shot the plating without hitting the ship.

“I,” Cobb was staring at the spot the plating had been shot down, “what?”

The Armored nodded and Paz retrieved his plate.

There was a hole clean through it.

“Everything has its weaknesses,” the Armorer said, “and its breaking point.”

“Well now we DO need more Beskar,” Omera sounded unimpressed, “We're going to the covert, then?”

“At least I'll be able to take a look at those wires you told me about,” Cara had both hands on the base of her neck, “They've been bothering me, honestly.”

The Armorer made a sound Cobb hadn't heard her make before – a troubled one that probably wasn't supposed to escape at all.

–

Paz's head was on Cobb's stomach and Cobb's hands were both threaded through his hair. Din was seated at the foot of the bed trying to knock the last of the dirt out of his armor.

“You know,” Paz rolled his head to look in Din's general direction, “you're going to have to sweep that out of the room when you're done.”

“I don't think I'm ever going to be done,” Din's grimace could be heard even though he was facing away from them, “Just. Turn it into a new armor plan. Dirt with a little Beskar thrown in for good measure.”

Paz snorted and Cobb huffed something that might have been a laugh.

“You two scared me,” Cobb's voice was so, so raw, “Cara and the Armorer came back without you and-”

“It's my fault,” Paz rolled onto his side, closer to Cobb, Cobb's hands still threaded through his hair, “I'm sorry.”

“How _did_ you roll the speeder?” Cobb asked, “And you are long forgiven.”

“Wish it was that easy for the rest of my life,” Paz said without thinking, “And hell if I know. Should have been easy. Hold the thing steady, turn it when someone pointed another direction. Then it just. Ran out of power.”

“Which it shouldn't have done like that,” Din added.

“Maybe if it hadn't been an old thing held together by even older things,” Cobb huffed, “But how did you _roll_ it?”

“Engine died between two cliff edges,” Paz said, “and then _really_ went haywire when I tried to get it to drift a little faster.”

Cobb made an unhappy noise and Paz reached over and put a hand on Cobb's cheek. Cobb kissed the side of Paz's hand, almost reflexively.

“Well,” Din put the piece he was cleaning down for a moment, “at least we weren't all panicking _before_ we started going ass over teakettle down a nearly sheer cliff face.”

“Jet packs were useless,” Paz squeezed Cobb's face a little bit, “Might have just jettisoned neck-first into the cliff instead of away from it.”

“I remember thinking that I was going to _hurt_ at the bottom of the cliff,” Din shook his head, “then nothing before I woke up bound and in the dark.”

“How dark?” Cobb asked. He sounded like he didn't want to know.

“Helmets were useless,” Din told him, “Just. Dark. No heat, when I checked, didn't check again when I heard footsteps, just listened.”

“How long were we gone?” Paz asked.

“After Cara and the Armorer got back?” Cobb started _petting_ Paz, his hand shaking, “A day and a half.”

“A day and a half!?” Din whipped around, “Why didn't anyone say anything about us being gone _a day and a half_?”

Cobb sighed and Din crawled onto the side of Cobb that Paz wasn't, so Paz moved until he and Din were facing each other, pressed against Cobb on either side and Cobb wrapped an arm around each of them.

“I don't think it feels real yet,” Cobb told them, “We didn't even look...”

“It's a good thing you all stayed in the village,” Din told Cobb, “They might have blown the dug-out on us out of spite.”

Cobb made a distressed sound and Din kissed Cobb's cheek.

“I'm glad you're back,” Cobb closed his eyes and let himself relax, “Both of you.”

“Which, not complaining, but you're taking _this,_ ” Din made a vague gesture that covered all three of them, “incredibly well.”

Cobb smiled and for a fraction of a moment – just a fraction of it – and the man looked at peace for the first time since Paz had met him.

“I kinda figured,” Cobb's eyes were still closed, “Seen the way you two look at each other when you thought no one else was looking.”

It was _Din's turn_ to blush and duck his chain but Paz caught Din's chin between thumb and curled index finger and gently nudged his face back up. Cobb squeezed both of them a little tighter against him.

Din made a purring sound and Paz felt his pupils dilate.

“Take it easy you two,” Cobb's chuckle was a deep, rumbling thing “Which, speaking of taking it easy, how _did_ you damage your Beskar again?”

Din threw his head back and laughed and Paz decided he'd _voluntarily_ get captured again if he could see Din do that two days later.

–

As a rule, the Armorer was not someone who was taken by surprise. She'd lived this long by knowing more than anyone else in the room – both beforehand and in the moment.

And so when Peli came in the holo call room when she was sure she'd locked the door, she reminded herself that there _were_ exceptions to every rule, and to this particular rule was, apparently, Peli.

“Why are we really going to the covert?” Peli asked as she let the door shut behind her, “I'm sure Cobb meant it when he had a few ideas of how he could keep them out of their armor.”

The Armorer bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing; nobody on this ship was subtle.

“You do not think the two of them will damage their armor further?” she asked Peli.

“I think they haven't hit each other in the same place twice in a row, nonetheless three times corner-on corner,” Peli sat down across from her, “and then promptly been shot at close range.”

The Armorer sighed and dipped her head for a moment before she raised it again. Even though Peli had no idea they were making eye contact, Peli's stare was intense. Steady.

Unafraid.

“How many Imperials are still out there?” the Armorer asked, “and if Din almost spent his entire time on Morak – the first time – in stolen armor, how did they know to call him _the silver ghost?_ ”

“It wasn't Mayfeld,” Peli started drumming her fingers on the table.

“You seem sure,” the Armorer crossed her arms.

“If he wanted Din out of the way he wouldn't have invited us in,” Peli stilled her fingers for a moment before she started drumming again, this time in the opposite order, “or kept Din so close. And besides that, you saw him. I know you _Saw_ him. He might guilt himself into an early grave with all that weight he's carrying in his heart, but he'd make a terrible long-term liar.”

“Hmn,” the Armorer knew Peli was right, but that still left more questions open.

“If the covert really used to be a listening station,” Peli realized, “it may still have some data stored there, since it's just cut wires.”

The Armorer nodded.

“Well shit,” Peli sat back, “Yeah, Cara and I can see about that while you...what are you going to do to their armor so we don't have to keep finding Beskar and a forage?”

“I'm still trying to figure that one out,” the Armorer said dryly, “but I'm seriously considering some sort of _external_ protective padding.”

Peli snorted, caught off-guard, and then laughed like she could picture it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ship doesn't (yet) have a name, bit at this point it might as well be called _The Subtle._
> 
> Edit: ...the vehicle ship, not the Paz/Cobb/Din think going on XD


	43. Stuck in the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paz to the left of me, Din here to the right...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...here Cobb is...

_Easy,_ he kept telling the both of them.

Truth was, nothing about these two was easy.

They were volatile, their energy boundless and their ability to press onward even when they wanted nothing more than to stop and curl up and rest or maybe disappear altogether only making their foundations more unstable. 

But they both had a core, a thing, an _idea_ , that kept them still _them_ despite everything. 

And sometimes, sometimes things around them got too wild, shook them too much and touched on that core and they needed a tether to attach them to their lives until they found their way back to themselves.

And there was nothing Cobb would rather be doing than acting as their tether.

Cobb inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in as much of them as his lungs would allow, the scent of sweat and dirt and _survival_ that permeated them.

Din nipped at Cobb's collarbone and Paz chuckled, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest.

Paz's hand slipped under Cobb's shirt while Din worked on undoing Cobb's pants.

Cobb leaned into their every touch, did everything possible to help them strip him faster, watched in awe while they both shed their blacks, their movements so precise from years upon years of those blacks being their second skin they could pull on in a heartbeat – probably a literal heartbeat – and the action he was watching was the reverse of that, was them shedding a lifetime of conditioning telling them how to be safe, how to take care of themselves.

Like this, they were exposed. Vulnerable.

_Safe._

“Din you have,” Paz was trying to say something but there was a laugh with every syllable, “you have dirt on your-” Instead of trying to tell Din where the dirt was, Paz reached over and brushed it off.

“Never getting rid of it,” Din was laughing, too, and Cobb felt like he was drowning, the type of drowning where he wasn't sure where the surface was but the rush of not knowing was _beautiful_.

Cobb reached up and grabbed Din's forearm and Paz's wrist and pulled them back down to him. They returned, the both of them, Din's chest heaving with each breath as if he'd been running, Paz's eyes _wild_ , Cobb was sure he looked manic. 

They both looked at him like they couldn't decide who was hunter and who was prey, but it was clear this was to be a _hunt_.

Din was first to strike, covering Cobb's body with his own and kissing him, a frantic thing, teeth and tongue and hot breath and somewhere beside them Paz _whimpered_ so Cobb tugged at Paz's wrist again and Paz managed to shove Din off Cobb and cover Cobb with most of his body, leaving just enough for Din to rest his shoulder and part of his torso on Cobb. Paz grinned and nudged his knee between Cobb's legs but then Din _bit_ Paz on the shoulder and Paz _moaned_ and Cobb pulled his hair and Paz _keened_ and Cobb flipped Paz onto his back with a growl, still holding onto Paz's hair.

Paz surrendered to him, held Cobb against him with shuddering breath while Cobb pulled his hair and bit at his neck, his shoulder blades, his jaw. Din managed to push them around until they were all on their knees, a tangle of legs.

Paz was pressed between them now, Cobb to the front and Din to the back. Cobb was _hard_ and aching and had his _nails_ dug into Din's _back_ and _scratched_ and the most selfish part of Cobb's mind hoped he'd leave scars, hoped there would be evidence that Din was _his._

Cobb bit Paz's neck where it met his shoulder and Din's hands were on Cobb's back, pressing in so hard there might be bruises and Cobb realized he _hoped_ they were bruises.

Din hummed, a low, near-growling sound and Cobb knew he had to get out of the way and Din shoved Paz forward.

Paz's face hit the bed and Din grabbed Paz's hips with a crushing grip and used his knees to spread Paz's legs. Cobb got behind Din, engulfed the both of them, reached forward with one hand to grab Paz's hair – fuck, he loved Paz's hair – and forced Din to lean over with his reach. He put his other hand over Din's, their fingers lacing, spreading over Paz's hip and the both of them _gripping_ like this was a shared lifeline.

And perhaps it was.

Paz muttered a curse followed by a series of semi-coherent pleas and invocations of long-dead gods and little, breathy whimpers that had Din _grinding_ against Paz and Cobb arched his back and pressed into Din as much as he could.

Din licked his palm that wasn't covered by Cobb's hand and slicked his dick with it and tried to guide himself _into_ Paz, tried to configure the their bodies together and Cobb let Din's hnad go so Din could start fucking Paz faster.

It took a little time and a lot of almost-frustrated grunts but Din was _inside_ Paz and had one hand in Paz's hair and the other hand on Paz's hip. He was slow at first, careful, testing. Paz was gripping the sheets and trying to press back against Paz, feel Din _reach _inside of him.__

__And then Paz _yelled_ and begged for Din to _do that again_ and so Din did, over and over and over, slamming into Paz while Paz cried out over and over and his legs went weak and he was rutting into the bed._ _

__Din chuckled and nudged Cobb back and slowly, ever so slowly, ever so _carefully_ maneuvered so Paz was on his back, then mostly resting on his shoulders with his legs over Din's shoulders. Din held onto Paz's legs and started thrusting again and Paz made all these _noises_ so wild, so desperate, and Cobb thought he might cum there, watching, _listening_._ _

__But this hunt wasn't over yet._ _

__Cobb felt all the air in his lungs escaped with a _humph_ and he tapped Din's shoulder and Din seemed to understand, backed off and Paz _whimpered_ but Cobb was _right there_ , pulled Paz back to his knees, slipped _under_ Paz, gave Paz an order._ _

___I want you to fuck yourself on me._ _ _

__Paz was graceless, hungry, _empty_ , and he all but _impaled_ himself on Cobb, used his shaking arms to support himself while he rocked on Cobb's cock and Cobb threw hes head back and archer his back and scrambled to grab the sheets._ _

__Din let out a small chuckle before he pulled Paz's hair and Paz arched his back and Cobb _felt_ Paz clench. Cobb bit out a curse and Din pulled Paz off of Din, declared _this isn't over yet_ and _shoved_ Paz onto his back but Paz resisted and managed to stay halfway sitting up._ _

__“Easy,” Cobb told them and they didn't listen. They shoved and bit and pulled and Cobb tried to throw Din on his back and Din rolled out of the way._ _

__“Make me,” Din challenged._ _

__“Submit,” Cobb growled and the command felt _right_ on his tongue so he shoved Din again and Din laughed, a sound of both disbelief and relief._ _

__“Submit,” Cobb said again, firmer, pushed up against Din until Din let himself fall back. Din raised his armor above his head and tilted his head back, neck exposed, breaths so fast Cobb could tell his heart was _racing.__ _

___“Good boy,” Cobb told Din but is was _Paz_ who whimpered._ _ _

___“You wanna be good, too?” Cobb asked and Paz managed something that sounded like a yes but also sounded like something inside was starting to unravel._ _ _

___“Stay here,” Cobb told both of them and he grabbed cloths and soaps and cleaned off his dick and then Din's dick and as soon as he did that Paz _swallowed_ Din's dick and Din thrusted so violently that Paz had to raise his entire body to avoid choking. Whatever Paz was doing with his tongue had Din grabbing Paz's hair and _pulling_ Paz up, drawing Paz up Din's body. They kissed and Cobb felt his breath catch in his chest, these men, these _beautiful_ men and they were _his_ but more importantly he was _theirs._ _ _ _

___“Paz,” Din sounded alarmed, “Paz Paz Paz Paz _Paz!!_ ” and Din came with a cry, rutting against Paz's stomach._ _ _

___“Fuck,” Paz breathed, “Din.”_ _ _

___“Paz,” Din was smiling, a bright, unfocused thing, a symptom of how deeply Paz had undone something inside Din's very soul that needed to be undone._ _ _

___They were still shaking, still reeling, still lost._ _ _

___“Paz,” Cobb coaxed Paz over to him and Paz crawled to Cobb on his knees and Cobb sat back to rest on his palms because he wanted to _watch_ , legs spread and cock waiting, heavy, almost _painful_ and Paz lowered himself to swallow Cobb's cock, too, and Cobb understood at once why Din had unraveled so quickly under Paz's attentions._ _ _

___Paz was so, so beautiful._ _ _

___Every time Cobb thought he might cum, he bit the inside of his cheek until he started to taste blood because the hunt was still on and he needed to _win.__ _ _

___“Good boy,” Cobb managed, “So good, Paz,” and Paz whined and Cobb thought he saw tears in the corners of Paz's eyes so Cobb guided him up, up, until Paz's chest was resting against Cobb's and Paz's face was buried in Cobb's neck and Cobb asked, “What's going on, Paz?”_ _ _

___“I'm sorry,” it was barely a whisper, “I'm-nobody's ever-”_ _ _

___“You _are_ good, Paz,” Cobb said and he wrapped both arms around Paz and they both laid there, Paz on top of Cobb, until Din climbed on top of Paz and Cobb wondered how strong his ribs were until they all rolled, Paz laying on his stomach and Cobb and Din to either side of him, engulfing him, shielding him from the world._ _ _

___“I'm sorry, I ruined it,” was still barely a whisper._ _ _

___“No,” Din told him, “you didn't ruin anything.”_ _ _

___“But-” Paz started to say something, then stopped, sighed, and Din kissed Paz's temple and Cobb kissed his other temple and Paz whimpered, breaths short and so close to panic and they held him tight, anchored him to them while he rode out whatever storm was ravaging his thoughts. _ _ _

___Cobb and Din both murmured things to Paz, half-words formed of empathy and kindness._ _ _

___After a while – maybe minutes, maybe hours – Paz murmured, “My dick's still hard,” into the matters._ _ _

___“We can help with that, too,” Cobb realized it might have been an insensitive way to say it but Paz chuckled and rolled over so he was laying on his back._ _ _

___Din kissed Paz's temple, then his cheek, then his jawline, then down his neck and up his neck again and his jawline again and then his lips and Paz _surged_ forward, wrapped Din in an embrace, tangled their legs together and they kissed and kissed and kissed so rarely stopping to breathe and Paz rutted into Din's stomach and Cobb felt like this was going to be one of the most stunning things he ever witnessed. The scratches Cobb inflicted earlier were still visible, still bright and red and Cobb's dick _twitched_ and Cobb thought _mine.__ _ _

___There wasn't much warning before Paz came, just his thighs tensing and his fingers digging into Din's skin and a _shout_ as he thrust one last time, harder than the others. Din pulled Paz's hair right as he came and Paz gripped Din's hair and _pulled_ and Din made a noise Cobb filed away in the box in his brain where all the best things were kept alive long after the moment had ended._ _ _

___Din and Paz laid there for a while, Paz's breaths evened out and Din spent the whole of it with his face in Paz's neck. Every now and then one of them would give a lazy thrust, aftershocks rippling through them._ _ _

___Both of them humped and gasped and shivered at the same time and Cobb reached down to stroke himself and he _moaned_ and both Din and Paz seemed to zero in on him, their eyes still post-sex bright but not entirely focused, _pounced_ on him and Paz took Cobb's cock in his mouth again and Din kissed Cobb with such ferocity Cobb realized he'd been caught._ _ _

___The hunt was over._ _ _

___Cobb moaned when he realized this, realized _he'd_ been caught, Paz did something new with his tongue and Cobb _came_ with a shout and Din reached around to Cobb's back and dug his nails into Cobb's skin and Cobb felt like he'd become _boneless,_ melted into the mattress with Paz on one side of him and Din on the other._ _ _

____Easy._ _ _ _

___Being like this was easy._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is WILDLY unrelated to this chapter, but once this story is done my next big project is a Mandalorian monster hunter AU and I am SO EXCITED but I'm trying to do only one project at a time.
> 
> Also you may notice the chapter count is gone. This story is going to be so, so much longer than I initially planned and this is SUCH A GOOD THING.
> 
> And yes, I couldn't resist the Steeler's Wheel references.


	44. Planning Committee Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the covert: Everyone plots out their return to the covert. Everyone's a little jumpy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all the talking they do, not much at all seems to actually get done.

“We have an hour until we land,” the Armorer was knocking on everyone's doors, summoning them to the mess hall, “One hour, everybody, let's go over everything!”

“If I just stay in bed,” Cara muttered, “do you think she'll notice?”

“Likely, yes,” Omera's smirk could be heard in her words.

Cara grumbled some more and rolled off the bed – directly onto the floor – and _then_ stood up.

“Fine, I'm up,” Cara said with a stretch, “Think she's going to wake Winta as well?”

“If she doesn't, Winta will hear all the banging and shouting anyway and show up to see what's going on,” Omera sighed, a heavy thing, “I know she's safe here, but...”

“But the universe as we know it is changing,” Cara finished for her, “and when a child grows up next to the epicenter, even for a little while, you never know how it's going to effect them.”

Omera sighed again and started to say something, but Cara gently, every so gentle, grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hug. Omera rested her cheek on Cara's and Cara told her,” Winta's going to be fine. More than fine – she's going to be great.”

“I hope so,” Omera said, her worry echoing through thousands of generations of parents who'd been forced to raise their children around the horrors of those who decided the best way to get what they wanted was to take it by force, costs be damned.

“You've done fantastic with her,” Cara wrapped her arms around Omera, “really.”

“Thank you,” Omera let herself lean on Cara, just a little, let Cara shoulder some of that which she'd carried within her with her for years.

–

Winta was there already, rehydrated breakfast in hand, Peli's droids swarming around the kid and chattering away.

“Oi!” Peli called to her droids, “What have I told you about getting too close to food!”

The droids gave Winta a little bit more space, still chittering and tumbling over each other while Winta laughed at them.

“Sounds like there's a story behind that one,” Paz was seated next to Cobb, Din across from them, helmet off and his own breakfast clutched in both hands like he was trying to sap all the warmth from it.

Omera was still surprised every time she saw either Din or Paz without their helmets; she understood how just one crisis- never mind crisis after crisis after crisis – could change someone, could rip every shred of faith from them, yes, but both of them?

She was missing something, something _big_ , but she wasn't sure she wanted to know exactly what it was.

“So,” Cobb said once the Armorer and Peli walked into the mess hall, not even a minute behind each other, “I take it this one's going to be more than in-and-out.”

“If the equipment is what I think it is,” Cara told him as she tried to open a package, “it may be days.”

“Will it be safe?” Cobb asked, “Last time you didn't let us near anyone, even Din and Paz, but you're not going to be keeping us in a basement for _days._ ”

“Well,” Peli took the package from Cara, opened it, and then handed it back, “ _you_ may not be able to stay in the basement for days.”

“If you stick close to Paz and Din, yes,” the Armorer said, “And if you don't...still probably.”

“Where does that leave the rest of us?” Cara asked, “When we're not working on the wires.”

“Where ever you want to be,” the Armorer told them, “Most of the covert will likely be staying inside, either out of habit of an abundance of caution.”

“And you still don't want to tell them about the darksaber,” Din's mouth was full but he didn't want to miss his chance to speak, “or have Paz and I there without our armor on. Are you sure this is a good idea.”

“I get that they're fragile,” Omera added, “but they're going to know _something_ is up.”

“Out last good idea turned out to be a bad idea,” Paz said it almost absently. Din flicked some food on him and he made an indignant sound but laughed immediately after doing so, softening any scolding effect he was going for.

“The fact no one noticed the darksaber last time was a fluke,” Din continued.

“Perhaps,” the Armorer conceded, “I still maintain that knowing now, when nothing has a shape, will only serve to throw everyone into chaos.”

“And what about when they ask what's happened to the spikes on your helmet?” Cara asked, “ _Someone_ is going to ask.”

“I will deal with that when it comes,” the Armorer told everyone.

“If the place is an old Imperial listening station,” Cara crossed her arms, “what are your plans for the covert?”

“I will-” she started saying.

“If you say _deal with that when it comes,_ ” Peli interrupted, “I'm taking this ship and turning towards the nearest uninhabited planet so you can think up a plan.”

“If we land on an uninhabited planet, doesn't that make it inhabited?” Winta asked.

“Only if we stay there,” Din told her.

“Oh, okay,” Winta shrugged and went back to playing with the droids and holding her breakfast instead of eating it.

The Armorer said nothing.

“So,” Peli took a deep breath, “just to make sure we're on the same page: we're going back to a covert that's understandably distrusting of strangers, half of us are going to try to determine what back be done with the listening equipment while the other half of us are going to try to keep busy. And we're all going to try not to mention anything even close to the fact you and Paz have been away so long is related to Din's whole freshly-minted-king deal.”

“Correct,” the Armorer nodded.

“I'm not sure how, but the way you said that managed to make it sound worse than the version in my head,” Cara said to Peli.

“It's an inborn talent,” Peli shrugged.

–

Cobb watched Din and Paz help each other into their armor.

It was something they could have done alone, sure, but there seemed to be some sort of silent show of camaraderie and support going on that Cobb could only watch, not understand.

“I hate this,” Din said as he put his helmet on, “Lying, hiding. It feels so _wrong_ , like she thinks we're not a part of the covert anymore.”

“Are we?” Paz asked as he put his own helmet on, “After everything we've learned, could we be?”

“I don't know,” Din sighed, “I just don't know.”

–

The ship landed gently, Peli's flying abilities as inborn as her apparent ability to just rip a moment open and expose the worst parts of it for what they were.

“Ready?'” Peli asked when she joined everyone else by the ramp.

“No,” Din was almost too quick to say, “I am nowhere near ready for this.”

“Great!” Peli's enthusiasm was a sarcastic one, “Let's roll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually they're just going to forego the planning stages altogether.


	45. Stick to the Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh but things so rarely go to plan, regardless of how good or bad the plan is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least they're home again?

They'd been there ten minutes at most when the first fight happened.

Someone had come too close to Cobb, had pushed Cobb and demanded to know what they were doing back and pushed him again when he refused to answer. Paz told him to leave off, to leave Cobb alone, so Cobb had received a third shove for Paz's efforts and Paz became been so _furious_ he'd drawn hit knife and all Din had said was _dammit_ before the blows started to land.

There was silence outside of the fight, silence that made too much room for the sound of Beskar-on-alloy to echo.

People came running, terrified, and when they saw it was Paz striking a friend in front of a group of mostly-strangers, they tried to join in. There were too many people, too many fists, too many knives, too many-

“Enough!” a voice boomed from somewhere in the back of the crowd – a young voice, almost too young for the gravity it carried – and everyone froze, even Paz. The crowd parted to let the covert's new beroya through. When she got to Paz and his combatant, all s he did was stand there, arms loose at her said, and wait for one of them to start talking. 

“They won't answer why they're here!” the combatant was shouting, “They're-”

“It's my fault,” Paz cut him off.

The combatant and several bystanders stared at Paz, their silent accusations that he was a stranger and a liar evident despite the sea of helmets.

“And why _are_ you here?” the new beroya asked.

“Armor damage,” Din answered for Paz, “and to examine the cut wires to determine if they're safe to reconnect.”

“How?” the combatant asked, “We were told reconnecting them might bring the Empire down on our head.”

“This one,” Paz jerked a thumb towards Cara, “She knows what to look for.”

“You _both_ have pure Beskar armor,” someone said, “How did you damage it?”

“Prison break,” Paz said, “Things got a little...tangled.”

“Both of you got captured?” the combatant asked, “How?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Paz shook his head and there were a few confused murmurs but everyone started backing off, started returning to whatever tasks they'd thrown down when the commotion started.

When it was only the beroya left she asked, “Was it really a prison break?”

“Yeah,” Din sighed, “Yeah, it was.”

She shook her head and her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Come on,” she waved them on, “If you're here to work on the wires, there's a lot to be done.”

–

Cara was afraid she'd find this.

Everything about the basement screamed _Imperial_ and anywhere an emblem might be was covered in scratch marks that you could only see if you shined a bright light directly on them.

“Yep,” Cara turned off her light and stood up straight, “It's what I hoped it wasn't.”

“And yet knew it was, from the sounds of it,” the beroya said.

“Yep,” Cara popped the _p_ , “Do you have a name? One you can give us, I mean.”

She laughed before she told them, “Don't worry about my name.”

Yep, she reminded Cara of Din.

“So what do we do?” Peli asked, her light still on.

“We've fixed all the leaks,” the beroya told her.

“Yeah, but we connect these and we're sending out a signal to everyone listening,” Cara reminded her.

“Not if we jam the signal first,” the beroya suggested, “then we could download any information the machines still hold before we disconnect them again.”

“I like her,” Peli said aloud.

“Well then,” Cara clicked her light back on, “let's get to work on the jammer.”

–

Din felt so, so out of place among his own people.

Everyone around him still lived the Armorer's truth, still believed Pre Vizsla was a hero to the Mandalorian people and the Death Watch could have stopped the Empire from taking Mandalore from them if they'd had more support, more people.

It made him sick, almost physically so.

Not terribly far away from him, Paz seemed to be going through something similar; his entire body was rigid, his movements jerky where they should have been fluid.

There were so, so many Mandalorians around them. So many people they were _lying to_ with such a small list of omissions.

If only each item on the list wasn't so overwhelmingly monumental, this might feel more like a homecoming.

–

The Armorer called Paz back to her forge first.

He followed, a sense of duty hanging so heavily around him that it seemed to be trying to crush him, to swallow him whole.

This forge was different than her last one – it was on the roof, for one, the fires under a covering that seemed to be holding up against whatever weather this place had experienced while she was away.

Paz took off his armor one piece at a time and laid them gently near the forge's foundation.

“I think,” the Armorer told him, “that in addition to fixing the damage, adding an alloy layer to take the first hits will _greatly_ reduce the amount of Beskar you two might have otherwise burned through.”

“You say that like you're planning for us to get ourselves blown up regularly,” Paz grumbled.

“Well you are taking turns with it now,” she replied, her amusement leaking through her words.

Paz made a frustrated noise and whirled around on his heels to face away from the Armorer.

His helmet was still on, both out of concern someone might come to watch the Armorer work and a sense of duty; this was the Armorer's most sacred space and regardless of how deep her wrongs ran, this was not Paz's space to defile.

–

“Okay,” Omera was holding together the thing Cara, Peli, and the young beroya had cobbled together to act as a jamming device, “we're only going to be able to test this once and _maybe_ hold it for five minutes once it's running.”

“You don't think we're going to get a second chance at running it?” the beroya asked.

“I'm afraid I'm not very hopeful about a second running, no,” Omera answered, “You three _did_ create this out of what looks like things salvaged from a spare parts box, some rations wrappers, and tree sap.”

“Fern sap,” Peli corrected her.

“Somehow not inspiring any additional confidence,” Omera shook her head. She was so, so glad Cobb had taken Winta for a walk to explore the surrounding flora and fauna. Who knew how well – or poorly – this was about to go.

“So what you're saying is, if that thing works, we've got five minutes to connect a machine, turn it on, _and_ download data?” Cara asked for clarification's sake.

“At most,” Omera nodded, “Just a guess, though.”

“We're going to have to get a machine just shy of the turning on phase,” Peli told everyone, “and if the jammer works, connect it and just try to download _anything_.”

“Better plan than the one from this morning,” Cara shrugged.

“What was your plan this morning?” the beroya asked.

Peli laughed and clapped her on the shoulder.

–

It wasn't that Paz didn't like the look of his new armor.

It just...didn't look like _his_ anymore.

The dull gray of the alloy and the extra weight to it threw him off-balance, mentally and physically. The Armorer must have felt him struggling, because she asked made a humming sound.

“Did you know,” she started saying, “that the Imperial-cast Beskar was less stable than a Beskar alloy?”

“No,” Paz pulled back a little bit, “Why? How?”

“Beskar is more than a metal,” she explained to him.

“It's sacred, yes,” Paz wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest of whatever it was she was about to say.

“It's also very temperamental,” she kept talking, “if its casting and tempering are imperfect, it's no better than using an alloy.”

“Sounds like a lot of trial and error,” Paz said.

“If one learns how to craft armor on their own,” she confirmed, “The way it used to be, every Armorer trained a series of apprentices, and then retrained them every handful of years if they did not become an Armorer themselves.”

Paz stopped wanting to leave the situation long enough to ask, “What happened to all the ones you trained, then?”

“The same thing that happened to almost all of the Mandalorians,” her voice sounded different, sounded _empty_ , “to almost all of _us._ ”

For a moment, Paz almost understood why she'd spend so long making sure the covert lived the same lies she wanted so badly to live herself.

If they'd been true, perhaps Mandalore and her people would have survived.

But this wasn't a universe that had room for the what-ifs and the maybes of broken souls.

–

Easy.

It had been easy, actually, connecting the machine and downloading everything that had previously been stored in the listening post's data banks before Cara just shot the poor machine to all hell instead of disconnecting it.

Cara had whooped and declared that was the best she'd felt shooting something in a long time.

It was easier, the beroya assumed, when there was no life in the crossfire, and Cara had so clearly seen an impossible number people die by her actions.

What hadn't been easy was listening to the recordings.

They'd all four been scanning different parts of the download to see what they'd gotten their hands on. For the most part, it seemed to be things that would need time and effort to pick apart – ship movements from when the war was still active, data on planets separated by, well, planet – but Omera had said, “Hey, this section of files says _Mandalore,_ ” and they'd all stopped what they were doing to see what those files contained.

“Oh wow,” Omera had started from the bottom of the files, “Some of these pre-date the Empire.”

“I want to see them,” the beroya said and she'd almost missed the choked-off sound that only Peli made. She filed the sound away as 'something may be unexpected.'

And they started with the oldest file.

Accepting that it was a recording of Pre Vizsla making deals with the very people who had, in the end, scorched their planet and nearly wiping out their entire people followed immediately by a recording of Pre Vizsla being slaughtered by a Sith, seeing the darksaber held aloft by someone who managed to be _worse_ than a Jedi?

The beroya thought she might be sick inside of her helmet.

Peli and Omera were on either side of her in a heartbeat, each with a gentle hand on her back, telling her to take deep breaths.

“I,” she said, steadying herself on one of the machines, “I need to-” She felt herself backing away, backing out of the basement. 

“Honey?” Omera sounded like a mother when she spoke and the beroya felt the kindness like a blow to the chest, “Where are you going?”

“I,” she swallowed, “I need to talk to Din about this.”

He was their beroya, too, once.

He'd know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no way this was going to go smoothly for anyone.


	46. Scaffolding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short one! Just one scene, really, but it's a scene that deserves to stand on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Scaffolding is an instructional method in which teachers demonstrate the process of problem solving for their students and explain the steps as they go along. After a few initial explanations the instructor will then remove themselves from the students and only offer help when needed."

Din had just been summoned by the Armorer when the new beroya came running – _Running!_ – up to him.

“I need to talk to you,” she told him.

“Come with me,” Din told her, “I'll leave my armor at the forge and then we can go talk.”

“I,” the beroya _almost_ sounded winded, “Yeah, okay, yes, thank you. Sir.”

So the kid had military background.

“Come on,” Din motioned for her to follow him. She followed, never more than a step behind him, her footsteps hurried.

The Armorer was, as always, unmoving and calm on the surface. If she had any thoughts or feelings regarding the new beroya following them or her urgency, she gave no indication.

Din made quick work of removing his armor and laying it carefully on the ground by the Armorer.

“Tend to her,” the Armorer said quietly, “Be careful.”

“Of course,” Din said, “Thank you,” he turned to the new – turned to the beroya – and told her, “Lead the way.”

And she did. She lead him through the building, down hallways that got less and less sturdy looking, into parts where they clearly had yet to have been able to restore. She lead him into darkness and only gave him two steps worth of warning before they came to a drop. 

“Here,” she turned her helmet light on, “I mean, I realize you have your own...”

“Thanks,” Din told her, “What went wrong?”

“It's that obvious, huh?” she gave a small, sad laugh, “We got one of the stations running.”

“Somehow I feel like whatever you're about to say next is better than _'We're going to have Imperials here any minute now,'_ ” Din guessed, “But only by a little.”

She made a sound that sounded like a choked off sob before she started hyperventilating.

“Hey,” Din came around to stand in front of her, “Easy there, easy.”

“Can't,” she managed.

“What's your name?” Din asked her.

“Don't have-” she tried to say.

Din _felt_ something ripple through him – the force or something just a touch stronger than intuition, perhaps – and he took his helmet off and looked at her and told her, “My name's Din. What happened?”

The beroya sobbed and her entire frame shook and Din hugged her tight, hugged her like she was still the child her voice gave her away for being. 

“Nati,” she finally told him with a sniff, “My name is Nati.”

“Nati,” Din said to her, “what happened?”

And so, Nati told him about the recordings, about how many _more_ files were on there, about the Mandalorians before the Purge.

“And I figured,” she was still crying, “you were – still are, I don't actually know how these things work – you're a beroya. Mandalorians like us, we're expected to shove anything we feel to the side for the benefit of the covert but _I don't know what's best here._ ”

Din took a deep breath as he felt bile rise in his throat. Before she said anything, she went on: “A Sith has the _darksaber,_ Din! How can we call ourselves Mandalorians with a _Sith_ as our rightful ruler?”

“When I came to the covert a few months ago,” Din sighed, “I'd just been through the worst years of my life, worse than war, worse than losing my parents. I was...lost. Still might be lost, but I'm far less lost now.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, the underpinning question of _What does this have to do with anything?_ quite clear.

“Last time I was here,” Din let her go, both to grab the darksaber and give her a chance to leave if showing her the truth went poorly, “I listened to someone who I trusted to know what I needed to do better than what I thought I needed to do.”

“What,” she took a few gasping breaths, “what did you need to do.”

“I needed,” Din drew the darksaber and extended the blade, “I should have told the truth.”

Nati fell to her knees and Din ripped her helmet off just in time to avoid her vomiting in it.

“If you didn't have yours off,” she said between coughs, “I probably would have tried to kill you on principle, darksaber or no.”

“And you would have won,” Din put a steadying hand on her shoulder, “and probably would be a much better leader than I would.”

She laughed and coughed and shook as she forced herself to her feet. Din steadied her and she thanked him as she used his arm as support.

“And what will you do now?” she asked him.

“We,” he handed her helmet back to her before putting his own back on, “are going to tell everyone the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are y'all ready for this next chapter?


	47. Truth Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't have a plan,” Din answered honestly, “Just a to-do list at this point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooboi this one's going to be a ride!

Paz was bored, lonely, and he was experiencing this _disconnect_ from all the people he used to fill his social interaction quota with. 

So he went looking for Din.

Maybe not the smartest of moves if he wanted to pretend like nothing out of the ordinary was going on, but he reasoned that asking around for Cobb would be ever worse.

The Armorer should have called him for his armor repair and revamp by now, so he started there.

“He left with the beroya,” the Armorer had told him.

The beroya, Paz knew, was helping Peli and Cara with the machines in the basement. Easy enough, he figured. A lot of stairs, but easy enough.

When he got to the basement, he found Peli, Omera, and Cara, all looking very, very worried, but no beroya or Din.

“Paz!” Peli explained, “Paz, have you seen Din?”

“Oh,” Paz took a step back, “No, what's going on?”

“The beroya went looking for him,” Cara explained, “We...we were able to download a _lot_ of files while jamming the signal and then disconnect the machine, but...”

“Don't try to soften the blow,” Paz wasn't sure that was the best instruction to have given based on how all three of them grimaced.

“There are thousands of files from Mandalore,” Omera told him, her voice gentle, too gentle, “including recordings of Pre Vizsla helping the Sith, and the same Sith beheading him.”

Paz felt like all the air had rushed out of his lungs, felt his chest heaving, felt the world spinning, felt like he might be _falling_ when a so-familiar voice came from behind him and said, “Helmet off before you get sick in it.”

“Din!” Paz whirled around and hugged him tight, “Din, they told me...”

“And Nati here told me,” Din indicated the beroya, “I have no desire to see them, honestly.”

“What are you going to do?” Omera asked, he voice still just too gentle.

“What I should have done months ago,” Din looked around the room, “Tell the truth. All of it.”

“That sounds like a horrible idea,” Peli informed him, “No offense.”

“It might well be,” Din didn't disagree with her, “but the even worse idea is continuing to keep everyone in the dark.”

“I have to agree with Din,” Cara said, “It would be better coming from one of their own than it would coming from...well, than coming directly from finding the recordings.”

“I don't get it,” Nati sounded terrified, “I...you...we could destroy the data and swallow the secret. But you didn't even consider that.”

“I might have, before everything happened,” Din admitted, “But now? I can't justify it.”

Paz was still hugging Din tight, still hadn't loosened his grip at all. He touched his helmet to Din where both of their foreheads would have been, drawing a small, soft, “Aww,” from Nati, who immediately put her hands to her helmet such that, had she not been wearing it, she would have been covering her mouth.

_How young **was** this kid?_

“Yeah, they're so cute they're insufferable sometimes,” Peli broke up the moment and then refocused it, “Din, Nati, you don't have to tell everyone today.”

“...good point,” Din said like he had not been considering getting even the most rudimentary plan together regarding how to go about this.

“Though, if they wait too long, there's a chance someone else will ask what success we've had with the machines,” Cara pointed out, “and I don't have any hard evidence to back this up, but I am _pretty sure_ at least a few people will be able to tell if we lie.”

“It's almost always in the pupils,” Nati said, “I'm. I'm scared.”

“Me, too,” Din told her.

Omera was already on her feet. She hugged Nati, held her and stroked her helmet like she'd stroke Winta's hair and assured her things would be alright, one way or another.

Paz was still hugging Din close when Cobb and Winta showed up; Cobb joined the hug without a word, without a question. 

“Mommy?” Winta asked, her voice quaking, “Mommy, what's wrong?”

“Potentially a lot,” Omera answered honestly.

“We need to see the rest of the files,” Nati said, “See what else there is to know.”

“If you're sure,” Peli was the first to say something, “There's nothing I – or any of us – can do to stop you from going through the rest of the files, and even if they were deleted, there's nothing stopping you from re-downloading them.”

“If we tell everyone the truth I know _now_ and find out afterwards there's somehow even more important information that needed to be related,” Nati took a deep breath, “and everyone _else_ may not have the _go find an elder to talk it through with_ instinct.”

“She has a point,” the Armorer's voice caused everyone to jump, “Din, your armor's finished.”

“How did you know we'd be here?” Din asked.

“I didn't,” the Armorer answered, “I checked several other places first.”

“What's going on?” Cobb finally asked?

Nati started to tell the Armorer what she'd learned and Cara, Omera, and Peli filled in some gaps in her technical vocabulary, though they seemed to be doing so for Nati's benefit rather than the Armorer's.

The Armorer sighed, a long-suffering thing that could be heard through out the room.

“You're going to have to tell them,” Cobb said, “Not just these three, but your entire covert.”

“We,” Din started saying.

“No,” Cobb cut him off, “Save everyone in this room, Bo Katan, her Nite Owls, and Gideon, nobody knows you have the darksaber. If you and/or the kid lead the charge-”

“Nati,” Din interrupted.

“Nati, I'm sorry,” Cobb meant it, “If you two lead this charge, it may be seen as a betrayal, or worse, some kind of coup attempt.”

“He had a point,” Cara's armor were crossed.

Winta whimpered and hugged Omera's leg.

“I will not know everything in those files,” the Armorer told them, “or even close to it.”

“So,” Din stood up straight and looked around the room, “Group history lesson?”

“No,” Paz was quick to say, “You know this covert as well as I do. If we go through the files first, they'll think we're – they'll _know_ – that we're only telling them the information _we_ think will benefit them.”

“There isn't much of a benefit that's going to come out the other end of this at all,” Din shook his head, “But, Paz is right.”

“So what's your plan, then?” the Armorer asked him.

“I don't have a plan,” Din answered honestly, “Just a to-do list at this point.”

Paz couldn't help the laugh that escaped. There was nothing funny about the situation, just a feeling of sheer terror he knew he couldn't outrun if he tried.

–

Item number one on Din's to-do list had, apparently, been to have the Armorer announce that, under _her_ orders, Nati, Cara, and Peli – using Nati's name first was important – they did a test run of a jamming device in the basement, and a side-effect had been an unprecedented amount of Imperial data downloaded.

The truth, the most base version of it.

The second item had been for _Nati_ to announce that some of the files had been on Mandalore, and some of _those_ files predated the Empire.

The third had been to call a vote: did the covert want to go through the files together, everyone at the same time, or did they want-

There had been no vote, just an outcry to show the files.

Din was the one who produced them. He'd clearly expected this reaction; he already had the files cued up, starting from the oldest.

And that seemed to be where Din's list ended. 

–

After the third fight that came to physical blows, Din had Winta and the covert's Foundlings who had not yet completed their training escorted out of the room.

“Why'd you send them out?” someone demanded.

“You're being careless,” Din's voice was harder than Cobb had ever heard it, “This isn't easy for any of us but I will not have _anyone_ put _children_ at risk because their own pain came out in the form of violence.” 

After the seventh, when someone ripped someone else's helmet off, Din drew the darksaber.

“Enough!” Din's voice was _terrifying_. 

There was a stillness that seemed so total even the blood drawn in the fights stopped flowing.

“Din,” Peli was the first to recover, the first who managed say something, “what are you thinking?”

“I can't say I make a habit of it,” Din's voice was still just so, so different.

“Of thinking?” Paz was incredulous.

“Well that explains a lot,” Cobb said under his breath, loud enough that only Paz heard him. 

“How can you joke at a time like this?” someone – one of the men who used to follow Paz around while Paz was picking fights with Din and calling them sparring matches – demanded.

“I don't think he's joking,” the Armorer said.

That seventh fight had started when a recording of what was left of House Vizsla – and every other House of Mandalore – after one of Clan Wren's _children_ designed a weapon to, in effect, _cook_ Mandalorians in their armor, rendering their flesh and bone into _nothingness._

The tribe had seen its entire understanding of Mandalore, or the war, of _what happened to their people_ ripped away from them.

And Din?

Din had had enough loss for one day.

“There are only three files left,” Nati spoke up, loud, calm, _in charge_ , “Now, we can either watch them together, or we can end here, because each fight only gets worse and while I have a feeling these files will fill in the last gaps.”

There was a stunned silence Nati took as a _let's finish this._

All they learned from the last three files was that the Empire knew the darksaber had been given to Bo Katan – to Satine's sister – by the same child of Mandalore who'd invented the horror show of a weapon, that the Purge was enacted because the Empire had run out of use for its Mandalorian fighters and didn't want any of them rebelling or _causing more trouble than they already had_ , and that Moff Gideon was not only alive but was in possession of the darksaber.

There were more words than that, of course, but that was the core of it.

“So uh,” a voice that sounded so young said, “how did _you_ get the darksaber?”

Everyone looked to Din, who clipped the darksaber on his hip, sighed, and told everyone the story about _why_ he'd been willing to risk his life for a child, how many times he did just that after the entire covert came to his aid, and how he wound up taking down Moff Gideon over said child.

“So what you're telling us,” Nati's voice was uneven again, “is that if we – that if you had been left to your own devices out there, it's likely the darksaber would still be in the hands of the Empire?”

“Not likely,” Paz shook his head, “certain.”

“Would have been a much higher cost if you had turned away,” someone said, “Or if _we_ had turned away.”

“I though Mandalorians always helped each other,” Cara said quietly.

“There was a...small moment of debate,” the Armorer confided, “Some of the eldest, they've seen the costs of helping someone in defiance of the Empire.”

Cara opened her mouth to say something, but the Armorer said, “Not the warriors we once were, I know.”

There was an uncomfortable amount of shuffling accompanied by something too close for silence, and then.

“Well,” someone closer to the back of the room said, “what's next?”

Everyone looked to Din again.

“There aren't very many of us left at all,” Din looked around the room, “and if there are any coverts, they are even harder to find than this one was. If – if we're going to reunite, as a people, it will be a slow thing, possibly something that will take generations.”

“And?” Nati asked, “And what else? What _now?_ ”

This wasn't the question of someone who doubted Din, no, but rather someone who was beyond terrified and _trusted_ Din to have then answers.

“Now,” Din took off his helmet and there was a gasp around the room, but he continued, his voice somehow even more commanding without the helmet's filters, “Now we will need to learn to set aside the dogma and rigidity that we brought into our lives – into ourselves – when we thought we understood the universe, understood our place in it, when we thought we knew the path our ancestors took that delivered us here.

“Because there _are_ other Mandalorians out there. They may not think like we do, may not _act_ like we do, but reconciliation is going to be what saves us, not dogma,” Din took a deep breath, “I...I've met Bo Katan, twice actually. There are two Nite Owls still with her. If anyone knows where to find other Mandalorians, it will be them.”

There were overlapping cries, panicked questions and shouts, so many of them that no singular question could be understood.

A sharp, painful whistle cut everyone off.

“Where did you learn _that?_ ” Din asked Cara.

“The rebellion,” Cara shrugged.

“Who are all these people you've brought here, Din?” someone asked, “Where did you find them?”

Din knew answering was the best thing to do, even if he didn't see how this question helped - if he refused to answer something now, it may set a dangerous precedent that believed questions were unwelcome, or worse: that only the _right_ questions were welcome.

“In the fewest possible words,” Din told everyone, “Cara, met her while trying to find a planet to lie low on, turned out she was doing the same thing on the same planet for entirely different reasons, Omera and her daughter who's currently with the Foundlings, same planet, Cara and I met them while teaching everyone in their village old enough to hold a blaster how to fight walkers-”

“As in, Imperial walkers?” someone interrupted.

“Correct,” Din did not feel like going into that story right now, so he pressed on, “Peli, Tatooine, I'd come to collect on a bounty and she fixed my ship while I worked. Cobb, also, Tatooine, in search of other Mandalorians, found him wearing armor he'd bought off Jawas instead-”

“And he just gave it back?” someone demanded.

“After I got eaten by a krayt dragon, yes,” Cobb answered like it was the most obvious answer he could have given, “There were others who aided me, but in the end I faced Gideon alone.”

Din realized he _may_ have left that part out while giving the recap to his traveling companions and partners. He couldn't remember, honestly.

“And since the darksaber only means something if it is won in combat,” Din continued, “Bo Katan wouldn't take it when I offered it. And before you ask: I had – still have – no desire to rule. I just wanted my kid back.”

There was a wave of murmurs before Paz said, “You _do_ realize that's why no one's challenged you to it, right?” When Din didn't say anything, Paz continued: “You didn't come to possess the darksaber out of greed or a belief in what should be; you got it as...almost a side effect of doing the right thing over and over despite having every chance not to,” Paz paused, “Anyone who thinks they could take that on is someone with a death wish.”

A series of agreeable murmurs, then another, “What now?”

“Now,” Din looked around the room, “I'm going to find Bo Katan for a third time and see what she knows about finding more of us.”

“We,” Paz put a hand on Din's shoulder, “ _we_ are going to go find others.”

Din smiled and closed his eyes and felt the fear-driven tension he'd amassed over the day begin to loosen its hold on him.

“But first,” Nati looked at Din, “you might want to get your armor back on. Just...just a theory.”

Her suggestion snapped the hold fear had been maintaining over everyone; a laugh started in the back of the room and scattered itself here and there, landed in just enough places for the crowd to begin to disperse. 

“I think that's the most the covert has heard you say,” Paz said once there were only a few remaining, “Ever. Not at once, ever.”

Din huffed and leaned his cheek on Paz's hand and one of the others remaining looked between them, then at the Mandalorian they were standing next to and held out a hand. A few credits were deposited in the open hand almost reluctantly.

“Were they...” Cara started asking.

“Betting on what our relationship was?” Din asked, “Probably.”

“Probably an old bet,” Paz squeezed Din's shoulder.

“Probably a lot of credits changing hands tonight,” Din shook his head, “Peli, go see if you can find out who's running the betting pool and try to convince them into giving you a cut for helping them collect.”

“Why me?” Peli asked.

“If anyone can do it, it's you,” Cara answered for Din.

Peli shrugged and went go go do just that.

“We're going to need money for fuel,” Din said as Peli was leaving, “And food, and...anything else that happens.”

There was a silent agreement to deal with _whatever else that happens_ when they came to it.

For now, they'd rest and see how much success Peli had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din: I refuse to accept this is my destiny  
> Literally everyone else: Well sucks for you, you're stuck with it


	48. Interlude: Item One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With little bits and broken pieces and lost souls everywhere in the aftermath of the files, finds ways to push forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peli time! Peli time! Peli time!!!

Carrying out Din's single instruction was easy; it turned out that the bet on whether or not Din and Paz were _involved with each other_ had been building since Din had first come to the covert, barely old enough to take up the Creed.

Peli hated that phrase, _involved with each other._

If your life crossed someone else's, you were involved with them. Results and scale may vary.

Whatever Din and Paz had between them – and Cobb, though whatever gods were left to pray to protect him if the covert got wind of how close he was to them before they'd settled in their new truths – was so far beyond _involved with each other_ that to phrase it like that was just plain insulting.

The amount of bets _against_ their bond manifesting in anything like a partnership were incredibly high; she's known they had a storied history between them, though now she wondered exactly how _violent_ that history had been.

She was, indeed, given a part of the winnings pool for her collection and distribution assistance. It was a well-run thing that seemed to be one of numerous long-running bets organized throughout the covert. She understood it to a point – they'd been forced to hide, forced to rely on nothing but each other for so long that measuring each other and learning to predict the way the lives of others would go, even if whoever they weer measuring had no idea where they were going.

Nobody sees the patterns they're trapped in. Ever. 

And that's why finding people who cared enough to know your patterns _and_ know when they needed to help you adjust your course was crucial to thriving.

Din was her people.

Peli had been alone for a long time; sure, her droids were there and she loved them dearly, but there was a missing element that she'd only ever felt around other people. 

She'd decided the instant she landed in her ship yard that, yes, this man was under her watch, under her protection. She had no idea how old he was, but something about him kicked a _protective older sibling_ drive into the highest gear possible.

She supposed they shared a similar loneliness, a pervasive notion that they were always alone, always had to keep the fact that no one would come back for them in a crisis _just behind_ whatever active thought process was going on.

Not that she knew how she'd protect someone like that, but she'd figure it out.

And she _had_ figured it out.

It was an unorthodox method of protecting him at best, but she'd managed to hold some space for him while he ran away, ran to the desert to escape whatever shadows in his head had replaced his sense of self.

And then everything else happened.

Peli wasn't quite sure where she fit into the group; she didn't know how to fight, didn't know what she was looking for to avoid bringing remaining Imperial forces down on their heads, had never flown a star ship before. She certainly wasn't force-sensitive. She'd never _gone with Din_ on any of his adventure they were supposed to be revisiting.

This whole thing had gotten so much bigger. If Peli let herself be too still, sometimes, she started to feel like her spot in these events was a stolen one.

There was no reason to leave and there were plenty of reasons to stay, though.

Her shop was gone, her possessions had almost all been reduced to cinders. She had no family left alive, no second property, no back-up plan.

She supposed a plan wasn't the thing she needed right now, though. 

A to-do list, then, perhaps. A few small things to work through before she moved onto the next.

Item one: Get the credits to Din.

She almost went to give them to the Armorer, but she realized Din was the one in charge whether or not he wanted to admit – or was capable of admitting – to himself.

Well, and he'd been the one to tell her to go figure out a way to get some of the betting pool.

Din was on the roof, putting his – New? – armor on. He'd blinked a few times and Peli didn't recognize his armor for a few beats. It was bigger, darker, almost mottled silver and gray, the differences made stark in the sunlight.

Wait – sunlight? Had she really been awake all night?

Item two: Food.

She hadn't eaten since the break fast planning meeting whose resulting plan didn't survive more than a few hours. Food was a great idea. Food before sleep so she wouldn't wake up hungry.

She kind of fumbled around the building until someone asked her if she needed help. She told them she needed food and they fold her to follow them.

They had food – fresh food, not dehydrated rations – that seemed to have been foraged or hunted from the surrounding land.

They taught Peli how to skin and pit the fruits so she got the most flesh from them, taught her how to tell when they were ripe. They took a handful of meat that looked like it had been shaved off a giant piece of whatever they killed and handed it to Peli, who did not consider she could put it on her plate next to her fruit pieces.

Peli grabbed the handful and then looked at it, blinked a few times, realized what she'd done and laughed before putting it on her plate and wiping what little excess clung to her hand on her pants.

Peli thanked the Mandalorian who'd helped her and the Mandalorian assured her it was no burden at all to feed her.

Item three: Figure out where Cara, Omera, and Winta were.

There was no question where Din, Cobb, and Paz would be: together, in whatever space Paz had claimed before he left for Tatooine. But the other three didn't have a Mandalorian – nonetheless two Mandalorians – at arms length or closer.

It wasn't that Peli thought they were going to be harmed, just...just that they were strangers at a starting point of a shift that would reshape entire culture. It was a vulnerable time for everyone in the covert, and...

Peli didn't let herself finish that sentence. There was no room for worst-case scenarios in this. She didn't need those types of things clouding her head.

She found them in the meeting room, snuggled up to each other, Omera sleeping mostly on her stomach with one arm over Winta, who was sleeping curled up on her side. Cara was also sleeping on her side, one arm over Omera and her fingertips just barely brushing Winta's cheek.

They looked like such a happy family.

Item four: Sleep. 

She didn't want to walk back to the ship. It wasn't far, but she was starting to feel her exhaustion gripping her from the inside reaching out until in inevitably consumed her.

She wandered the halls looking for an open door – if it had a bed that would be better – when the Armorer found her and didn't even ask, just grabbed Peli by the wrist and lead her to a closed door. The Armorer opened it and there was a _bed_ with blankets and a pillow and Peli realized she hadn't had a pillow since she's lost her shop.

The bed was a cot with minimal padding, but Peli laid down on it and exhaustion swallowed her whole. Somewhere in her peripheral awareness, the Armorer was covering her with the blankets, making sure Peli would stay warm while she slept. 

Peli muttered some half-asleep thanks and she was pretty sure the Armorer brushed some of her hair out of her face and told her, _Get some sleep._

When she woke up, she'd start a new list. She'd work through it, item by item.

She'd stick by her people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're both such useless lesbians I love them so much


	49. Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get going again, even after everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! A transition chapter this time.

Leaving was hard.

The covert had, for the most part, accepted that Din had a lot to do and not a lot of ideas of how to do it – or even how to put names to tasks. He'd find the answers elsewhere, they were sure of that much. And so, Din had to leave.

They understood why Paz was going with him; even those who hadn't taken part in the betting pool had heard about the bet finally being over – it was the finally that got Din – and spent the rest of their time with the covert looking at them through a very different filter.

Most of them understood, too, why their Armorer was going with them; she'd been the one who sent Din away from the covert to chase what turned out to be a very heavy destiny; she was their leader, their guardian, and if one of their own had a destiny that would inevitably try to break him to test his worthiness, having her there may protect Din from breaking when that trial came for him.

But the covert was broken a broken things now, a culture nearly shattered entirely. Those who'd lived through Maul's reign and hid the truth about it were reluctant to let go of the lies that had let them live through the Purge; the younger ones – more Foundlings than people born into the Mandalorian way of life by far – felt like they'd rebuilt their life on something that was now just _gone_ and they had no way to even find the direction they needed to go if they wanted to find home again.

Nati wound up becoming the de facto leader in the absence of both Din and the Armorer. Din told her to call him if _anything_ came up. She was not alone, not really, and the weight of the covert was not something that sat on her shoulders, more something that sat beside her, looking for guidance.

There was a part of Din that hated the rest of himself for leaving someone so young in charge, but she was so sure of her self, so insistent that _this is a thing she started, and this will be a thing she sees through to the end,_ regardless of what shape it took.

Everyone, save Peli, informed him in private that Nati reminded them a lot of him, both of their drives to not only do the right thing when letting that responsibility fall to someone else would have been a forgivable path, but also to bind themselves to spearheading the change this right thing caused.

Peli just told him, “I'm glad it's you she trusts,” and, really, that was all that needed to be said. 

The Armorer had, after everything, made new helmets for Din and Paz both. When she presented them, Din told everyone the story of IG trying to make him relax while he was dying by telling him he had damage to his central processing unit and everyone laughed like doing so might protect them from all the newly jagged edges.

With all the time and space since then, Din could finally appreciate the joke.

But leaving?

It felt like walking away from his people, not walking towards something that, somehow, would manage to be even bigger than his _family._

Nati walked them to the ship and told Din she'd make him proud and, when the ramp was up and the ship sealed, Din fell to his knees and _wept._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've probably only got this one chapter in my tonight; I spent something like 4 hours remapping what's left of this story...and my gods are y'all in for a lot more. That said, the current chapter count shouldn't fluctuate much, if at all.
> 
> Also, I may start putting rejected chapter titles/summaries in the end notes, if for no other reason that I can look back at them and go _'what the fuck was I thinking?'_


	50. Marshal's Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb doesn't pull his punches. Ever. Including verbally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about to be written while singing along to sea shanties and pub songs, so let's see what happens!

Cobb couldn't sleep.

He'd been tossing and turning and Din and Paz had kicked him out of the bed until he could come back and sleep. All three had been kicked out like this at least once; so long as it was restlessness and not memories or fear keeping them awake, they were sent to pace the halls until sleep tried to claim them.

All three of them were light sleepers until they hit a deep sleep, so one of them tossing and turning early meant nobody was sleeping.

And so, he was temporarily exiled.

He was, in all honestly, surprised Paz had been able to sleep. Din, sure, he was _exhausted_ and everything he'd wanted to feel at the covert hit him as soon as they'd gotten back to the ship. But Paz? Paz had spent the time between then and sleep hovering so close to Din that it became _fussing over Din_ but Cobb had done the same thing.

Only Paz seemed to be able to sleep once Din has found sleep.

Which brought Cobb back to the fact he was in the mess hall, rummaging for tea when he wanted so badly to be able to find sleep.

Something warm, something that required patience. Yes. That would help.

While he was getting water to boil, the Armorer joined him.

“Tea?” she asked. Cobb nodded and she asked, “Would it be trouble to ask you to boil water for two cups?”

“Not at all,” Cobb let the water run a bit longer, let the kettle get fuller, “Can't sleep either?”

“I don't see how anyone can,” she said with a heavy sigh that sounded like a weight in her chest was forcing all the air out of her. 

Cobb made a noise caught between agreement and dismissal; he wasn't sure which one he felt.

They stood there in silence while they waited for the water to boil. The Armorer grabbed two cups and two tea sachets.

“Do you sweeten yours?” she asked.

“No,” Cobb shook his head, “but, thank you.”

Silence settled back in, not a comfortable thing but also not an unsettling thing.

Once it started boiling, Cobb poured the water into both glasses. The Armorer took hers and held it in both hands, close to her chest. Cobb wondered if she could feel the heat through her armor; her gloves were thinner than her welding gloves, but that wasn't saying much. She also had her full armor on, so there was no way she could feel the heat on her chest or chin.

She sat down at one of the tables, and Cobb took that as a signal to find somewhere else to enjoy his tea.

“Cobb,” she called to him as he started to leave, “May we talk?”

_No,_ Cobb's mind screamed at him, but he said, “Sure,” and he sat down across from her.

They sat like that for a while, tea cooling, Cobb waiting for the Armorer to say something and the Armorer so still she may have been a statue. 

Finally she, put her tea down to allow herself the space and ability to take a sip. 

Once she'd her first bit of tea, she said to Cobb: “You could have had me removed as the head of the covert three times over now.”

“Only two while we were still at the covert,” Cobb noted.

“Why didn't you?” she asked as she took another sip of tea.

“What good would it do?” Cobb snorted, “Even with all the wrong you've done, if _I_ was the one who kickstarted your removal Din would be wounded.”

“So for him, then?” she asked.

“In part,” Cobb tested his tea and found it still too hot, “I saw the covert, too.”

“We...aren't currently at our best,” the Armorer said slowly.

“It happens,” Cobb told her, “when a group – a town, a covert, a faith – is shaken apart by an outside force, not only do individuals break, the entire sense of community and cohesiveness is just... _gone_ in the aftermath.”

A small pause, another sip of tea, and then a, “So you've see it, then?” 

“I've lived it,” Cobb saw no reason to hold that bit back from her.

“And yet, your town survived,” she gripped her tea in both hands again.

“Barely,” Cobb almost laughed, “Do you know how many I lost? How many lived but never quite came back to themselves? How many houses are _empty_ and will probably stay that way until Mos Pelgo finally dies off?”

Cobb could feel his anger rising. How dare she?

“How many you lost,” she repeated, “You chose to shoulder quite a burden.”

“It wasn't a choice,” Cobb touched a scar on his neck, one he did his damnedest to forget about entirely, “I had the ability to liberate the only place I'd ever called home. What kind of bastard keeps running after he gets handed that?”

The Armorer was silent long enough for Cobb's tea to cool off enough for him to start taking sips.

“I'm only at ease with not being there because of Din,” Cobb had had enough silence, “and what he was able to do.”

“He seems to have a habit of doing that,” the Armorer quipped.

Cobb's nostrils flared; what Din had done for him was different; he'd yet to see anyone else who Din had _given them their life back._ And there was certainly no one else who Din had come back to at his most vulnerable, no one else Din called to mind and thought _I'll be safe there._

“It's fitting, really,” the Armorer continued, “After all, Din's ability to drag people and societies into something that sparks change for the better is why we're all here.”

“We're all here,” Cobb realized he'd set his jaw, “because you and Paz wanted to deal the death blows to who Din spend his entire life believing he was.”

The Armorer made a noise Cobb didn't understand; he wasn't sure he wanted to understand it.

“After the forth time,” the Armorer seemed to be talking _through_ Cobb, talking to someone she used to be, “losing everything and damned near everyone runs out of places inside of you to scrape empty.”

“Maybe,” Cobb huffed, “if you don't let anything or anyone else in to fill the gaps losing left.”

A long pause, some tea sipped, less and less steam rising from the glasses as each moment stretched out, each as empty as the one before it.

“Your covert was all you had to hold yourself together, I get it,” Cobb shattered the silence without mercy, “but that doesn't change the fact that,” he paused, trying to find the right words.

“That most of the damage over the past few days could have been avoided if someone besides the last members of the Death Watch hadn't been the ones who founded this particular covert?” she guessed the rest of his statement.

“I think I was going more in the direction of _what you've been holding onto is a series of elaborate falsehoods,_ ” Cobb sighed and took a long drink of his almost-cool tea, “but if that's the words you think fit, we can use those.”

The Armorer hung her head, just barely, just enough that Cobb could tell it was in involuntary thing rather than a show of some sort.

_Nothing fits,_ her posture seemed to scream despite the resumed silence.

Cobb realized she had never given her name – it seemed even to Din and Paz. Nor had anyone actually _called_ her 'Armorer,' just referred to her as such when she wasn't in the room. 

Nobody called her anything, just addressed her and assumed she knew they were talking to her.

He wondered if that had been a sort of penance, stripping herself of her sense of self entirely, becoming part of what kept the covert running, part of what kept the last of the Mandalorian people and their culture from slipping into obscurity entirely.

Perhaps, but also perhaps he was trying to find ways to make her somewhat redeemable in his eyes. People like her – what she'd done, what ideals she'd supported, the depth of her lies and manipulation – were people Cobb _hated_. They were the people who turned a blind eye to the suffering of others so long as doing so didn't effect the way others viewed them, the people who had no problem with taking the lives of others and making them their own.

And yet, both Din and Paz looked to her for _everything._ And perhaps that had changed; Din was certainly starting to act like he understood he was in charge of this – whatever _this_ was – rather than a bystander to this. But still, even if the truth had shaken their faith in her, a few days of turbulence and pain never untangled the mess you were caught in. 

There was nothing good that would come of him disgracing her in front of the covert.

The Armorer finished her tea and stood up to leave. She got about half-way across the mess hall before Cobb called after her: “Armorer. Where are you going?”

The Armorer paused for a long moment – so long Cobb thought she wasn't going to answer him.

“Somewhere I can believe in fresh starts, I hope,” her voice was filtered again, “Will you tell them?”

“About this conversation?” Cobb asked, “What good would it do?”

And, really, what would he have told them? That twice now he'd witnessed the Armorer break her own Creed and lived to tell the tale both times?

No. This was her faith, the very core of her sense of place in the universe, and as such it was hers to reveal when it came to adherence and shattering. He knew the value of freedom, the value of choice, and if he took those away from the Armorer he'd be no better than the people his hate was reserved for.

“Thank you,” she said so quietly that Cobb almost missed it.

And then she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that have been said while writing this chapter:
> 
> \- 'This would be a come-to-Jesus moment if Star Wars had Jesus instead of Anakin Skywalker.'  
> \- 'Cobb doesn't pull his punches'  
> \- 'If Cobb had a nickle for every time he knew the Armorer had broken her own Creed, he'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice.'


	51. Credit where Credit is Due

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how noble the cause, every ship needs fuel, and fuel requires credit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no they're planning again.

Cara couldn't believe she was about to be the one who had to bring it up. Surely, everyone else had at least thought about it, if not had private conversations about it at length. Why couldn't it be one of the ones who'd spearheaded this entire thing? 

But no, it had to be her, and it had to be soon.

And as such, if it was going to be awkward for her, it was going to be awkward for everyone else.

She managed to catch everyone in the mess hall at the same time, so she said, “How do we plan on keeping this thing flying long-term?” without preamble.

“Fuel?” Peli seemed uncertain, “Unless you've got a method of doing so that I haven't heard about.”

“I,” Cara blinked a few times, “Yes, fuel, but I was aiming for one level higher than that.”

“Credits!” Winta sounded so pleased with herself. Peli hid a grin by taking a sip of her tea and Paz punched the bridge of his nose like he had just realized who he was traveling with.

“Well,” Din pretended like the entire conversation wasn't doomed from the start, “I could pick up some work.”

“My offer to set up a repair shop long enough to keep her flying for a while still stands,” Peli reminded everyone.

“Why not both?” Din asked.

“Din,” Omera said slowly, “if I have to explain to you why letting _the King of Mandalore_ take a bounty on his own is a bad idea, I might challenge you for the darksaber myself.”

Din grumbled but Cobb laughed and the grumbling was greatly underscored.

“He doesn't have to go alone,” Paz said.

“So help me,” the Armorer looked between them, “if you two come back with armor damage, you're doing the next bounty without armor.”

“Understood,” Din and Paz said at the same time. Cobb narrowed his eyes and stared at the Armorer like there was some sort of damning judgment being passed between them.

“Both,” Peli rerouted the conversation, “We can do both and have to do this impromptu work thing less frequently.”

“Next question is how,” Omera tried to keep the conversation moving, “My skills are krill farming, which, well...”

“Drop me off on Nevarro,” Din said, “And Paz, if you're serious about this. Peli, you can set up shop wherever you think is best.”

“What about Cobb?” Cara asked.

“I'm sitting right here,” Cobb said.

“Okay, Cobb,” Cara resisted the urge to sigh, “What about you?”

Cobb seemed to think on the question for a moment before he said, “I'd be more of a liability than an asset on a bounty. Peli, wherever you set up shop, I'll find...something.”

“Alright,” Peli nodded, “Nevarro first, then wherever I want to go.”

Cara looked to Din and Paz, who shared a look that seemed to say _I'm glad we're getting dropped off first._

–

Din and Paz were both laying with their heads on Cobb's torso, each of them sprawled in different directions. Cobb had a hand on both of them. They laid there, eyes closed, resting, soaking each other in, just letting themselves _be._

Paz hoped he never got used to this; every moment like this one should feel this novel.

“You're sure you're good with this?” Din asked.

“Absolutely,” Cobb assured them, “I trust you. Both of you.”

“And you'll be alright,” Din knew he was saying it more for his own benefit than Cobb's,

“Always,” Cobb promised. 

Paz drew Cobb's knuckles to his forehead and held them there.

“It'll be weird,” Din admitted, “I didn't see myself returning to the Guild.”

“They'll accept you back?” Paz realized he should have asked a while ago.

“Yeah,” Din sighed, “I had a bounty on my head, when...”

He didn't say anything more, but Paz knew which _when_ Din was talking about. Cobb made a sad sort of sound and Paz took that as his cue to crawl over and lie on Din like some sort of sentient blanket until the worst of it had been chased out of Din's head.

–

Peli was job hunting.

She'd never done this before; she'd had her last job from the time she'd been old enough to hold a tool, and her shop had been _her shop_ from the moment she managed to tag her name onto the garage.

She had no idea how to go about it, not really, but she'd figure this out. Either she'd find, well, a more-or-less legal form of employment, or she'd open a repair shop without any permits or anything else she was supposed to have to do that.

Either way, it had been too long since she felt like she'd worked, and she _missed_ the simplicity of fixing machines.

–

“Alright you two,” Peli said as she lowered the ramp, “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“I feel like that's a pretty short list,” Paz teased and Peli swatted him. He laughed; he was going to miss her while he and Din were on whatever assignment they were about to undertake.

“If you need anything,” Omera told them, “you know how to get a hold of us.”

“Likewise,” Din nodded, “We will see you soon.”

“That had better be a promise,” Cobb informed them.

Peli looked between them – the Mandalorians looking like, well, Mandalorians and Cobb looking like he missed them already. Under their helmets, though, Peli knew they were looking at him in the same way.

They watched them go for a bit before Peli pulled the ramp up.

“Does anyone know what the holo closet sounds like?” Peli asked, “For an incoming call, I mean.”

“So we _are_ calling it a closet!” Cara exclaimed.

“ _I'm_ calling it a closet,” Peli shrugged, “Guess I've seen rooms that size, but they weren't usually called _rooms _in those cases, either.”__

__“What were they called?” Winta asked._ _

__“Privacy,” Peli told her, “They were called privacy.”_ _

__She didn't miss the _don't you dare explain this to my child_ look from both Omera and Cara. Peli bit the inside of her lower lip to keep from smiling at them; it wasn't her fault their bond and care were so endearing._ _

__“Where to?” the Armorer asked, her question a small saving grace._ _

__“I'm thinking Lothal,” Peli grinned, “Should be plenty of work to do there.”_ _

__They were going to what had once been one of the heartbeats of the Resistance; there would be work to do to understand how Din got to where he was – where they _all were_ – now._ _

__And there would probably speeders and ships that needed to be repaired as well._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reason #24751485 I probably at least need to start running chapters through Grammarly: I spelled 'nickel' two different ways in last chapter's end note.


	52. Old Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din returns to the Guild for work with Paz in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order a monologuing Paz?

It was different, walking the market in broad daylight, shoulders thrown back, proud.

Like he had the right to be there. Not hidden, not in the shadows, not in the sewers.

Paz had the right to be in the market, and he had the right to be in the market _with Din._

He'd wanted this for so, so long and now he _had it_ and he was so, so thankful nobody could see the silent tears that seemed to fancy streaming down his face despite his lack of permission.

He stayed half a step behind Din, his shoulder so barely behind Din's, like he was still _protecting_ Din from the things the market's shadows kept.

He would, though.

If the shadows loosed their secrets on Din – his King, his partner, _his Din_ – Paz would teach the shadows what it is to live a nightmare.

Paz had only ever been to outer rim planets; they all seemed to have the same incredibly static underpinning of desperation and want and grit and _violence_ that made them difficult to conquer and even more difficult to keep a hold on. There were not worlds of kingdoms – these were empires, their roots dig too deep in the often infertile soil to discern where the emissaries started and those who grew the roots.

Din went into a bar and Paz followed him and realized this was a place with a _soul_ that screamed and screamed for all the pain collected here but its screams were muffled by the _Knowing_ that there was worse yet to come; that was the nature of the beings who built this soul. Things would always get worse, yet they'd survive. They'd change their rules and grit their teeth and hold their shoulders back and their heads up – or whatever their anatomical equivalent of doing so was – and they'd find a way to attach themselves to whatever was left after _worse_ came and went.

There were _so many beings_ sitting around, some with their tracking fobs on the table or bar near them, were keeping them in plain sight of everyone else.

How foolish.

There was a shuffle when everyone realized Din was there. They probably thought they were being subtle, but the fear that flared up was so, so obvious. 

The fact Din drew so much attention and fear and begrudging respect, however buried the latter was, surprised Paz. This was Din they were looking at. Din, who kept to himself, Din who used to shy away from conversation. Din who took everything the world handed him – for better or for worse – without so much as a flinch.

This Din, Paz realized, was very different from the one the covert saw. This one was _power_ , a Din who believed he belonged in the space he took up. This Din was _deadly_ and the world around him knew it.

Din sat down across from someone who greeted him like an old friend but his smile showed too many teeth. They talked in half-sentence, a shorthand type of language that needed years upon years to develop, hundreds and _thousands_ of tiny conversations, each altering the shared language in such small ways that it isn't noticed until dozens of conversations later.

A job, it seemed, was indeed available for Din. A difficult one – or perhaps a dangerous one, Paz did not know the meanings of some familiar words ripped from his language and transposed into theirs – that many hunters had tried but not returned from. The reward was great, enough to keep them flying for a while, and Din took the tracking fob and secured it in one of the pockets of his blacks.

A ship, Din noted, was going to be needed, and Paz could have kicked himself for not thinking of that before; of course they needed a ship. What were they supposed to do, _walk to the next planet?_

A ship, this maybe-friend, maybe-dangerous man assured Din, would be no problem to secure. A favor, he said, for everything.

What the hell had Din done that warranted a favor in the form of a new ship?

They stayed a while, in that bar that wasn't a bar, chatting without words and becoming a part of this place while Paz stood and watched and tried to learn how to navigate this world-within-a-world, tried to figure out how to hit himself into this place Din seemed to just slip into despite, well, everything.

Din was asked about Paz, asked what he was doing there. All Din said was _he's my partner_ and Paz felt his breath catch and his heart do strange things for several beats.

_His partner._

_**His.** _

When the sun was so low on the horizon it could barely be called a sunset, they were taken to a ship – abandoned, technically, but abandoned by the death of its last owner. 

Take it, the man who handed out tracking fobs told Din, consider it _repayment_ and Paz _really_ wondered what the hell Din had left out.

A part of Paz was angry: Din had told him so much, they had seen each other at their lowest, _why_ had Din kept things to himself? Why hadn't Din _trusted_ him with the whole story?

But the greater part of Paz knew that Din owed him nothing; what happened to Din, what he'd done, what he had to do for the covert? There was no telling what wounds he'd gathered, no telling where the scars had landed. 

And so many of Din's wounds were fresh, too fresh to have even tried to set a scar. Paz knew this. Paz had also come to realize what they were doing was ripping the wounds open again, the metaphorical equivalent of ripping stitches out before the wound had a chance to finish closing.

And the thing about ripping stitches out like that was you were guaranteeing the would was going to heal wrong, going to leave a scar that _damaged_ and he'd agreed to do it, he'd agreed to rip Din's wounds open without care for the individual who bore them.

He'd looked at Din and seen no more than a broken blaspheme and wanted to _punish_ him for what he'd done, wanted to see him crumble under the weight of knowing the covert had rallied to him, that the covert had shattered itself for someone who threw their entire life away.

Oh, how wrong Paz had been. How damaging – and damning – his ignorance had been.

Paz hated the part of himself that was angry.

The ship was small. Small in comparison to the communal ship, but that was hardly a basis for comparison; the communal ship who belonged to _someone_ was just. Huge.

This one was meant for one person who was used to living rough. There wasn't a bed so much as a padded mat and the kitchen looked like it _might_ warm food if it could be bartered with.

Paz resigned himself to eating cold food for a while.

The ship had enough fuel for the trip and then some, assuming the bounty's location was correct. It was old, but it flew and that seemed to be all Din cared about.

After the speeder incident, Paz did not want to be anywhere near the cockpit. He informed Din as much and Din laughed and assured him he didn't have to.

It had guns, though. Paz could handle guns should the need arise.

Din checked the ship over, checked tiny little things Paz never would have thought to look at, things Paz didn't know existed, would not have seen if he hadn't been watching Din.

After what felt like hours of standing and watching and following and periodically holding things and then giving the things back to Din, Din declared the ship was good to fly.

Paz sat on the questionable pad-mattress, far away from the cockpit, while Din pointed the ship in the right direction and took them to the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No seriously did someone order a monologuing Paz? Because the next chapter's going to be much the same.


	53. To Love the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din's trying to show Paz what _getting started on a bounty_ involves while Paz has a lot of other things he's thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a row of Paz monologuing? It's more likely than you think!

Getting into the air had been easy enough on Paz – the ship did not start and stop in uneven intervals with Din at the helm; if it wasn't for the engine's constant humming, Paz would have had a hard time telling when the ship was on and when it was off.

Although, given the speed at which they were currently hurtling themselves through the start, he _hoped_ the ship was running, regardless of the sound of the engines assuring him that it was. 

He got curious, eventually, what it was like to watch Din fly despite his apprehensions about being anywhere near the controls, and so, when he found himself sitting next to Din, controls that could probably ruin their lives if he hit one he wasn't supposed to far too close for his comfort, Din started telling him what each control did and why without so much as looking over.

They were both in full armor – _Why were they both still in full armor?_ – and so Paz couldn't tell if Din had given him a sideways glance and _seen_ his anxiety before he started walking Paz through everything. Not that he didn't appreciate it, just...did Din see his discomfort, or did he just _know_ and started doing the only thing that could have let Paz actually watch Din fly instead of staring at the controls to make sure they didn't get any closer to him than they absolutely had to.

Din's voice was steady, almost clipped, no sound or moment wasted; this Din _almost_ sounded like the one the covert had known before.

Time had become divided in Paz's head like that: _before_ and _now_. There hadn't been enough _now_ that had passed them by yet for _now_ to shift into an _after._ After was a place with answers, a place where questions didn't make an impossible number of things seem fragile.

 _Also,_ Din had added at the very end of it, _I would touch as few things as possible until we can clean this._

The _we_ sent a thrill through Paz despite the fact the rest of the statement meant Din was expecting him to scrub at least half the ship and very heavily implied that Paz should _not_ have sat on the miniature mattress.

And so they spent credits they didn't really have and then spent and hours they could have spent chasing whatever target they had – Din had – been assigned, spent both types of currency – coin and time – to make sure the ship was clean.

Din burned the mattress as a part of that and Paz's sounds of indignation had been met with an assurance he wouldn't have to sleep directly on the floor. When Paz asked if that was because he'd be sleeping on Din instead, Din laughed so hard and so freely that Paz felt his throat hitch and his breath catch in his lungs.

Din didn't answer his question, though.

Din went on to pick up a few other things – a slightly-better-than-basic med kit, dehydrated rations, an extra set of blacks for both of them – and a _hammock_. Paz hadn't slept in a hammock before, but there was only one so the answer to his question might still be yes.

He hoped it was yes, anyway.

They were still in their armor, still protecting themselves from a world that was already so dangerous without their faces being registered to become recognizable – or worse, describable. Paz's cheeks burned, though; the tears the market had drawn out of him may have been silent, but the salt in them had the same effect on his skin just the same. He couldn't wait until they were in the air again and Din took his helmet off; only then would Paz think it was safe enough for him to do the same.

Paz asked him what he'd done to earn an entire ship as a _favor_ and when Din answered _helped apprehend Gideon,_ Paz demanded that Din tell him what happened to make the head of the Guild in particular. Din just shook his head and Paz puffed up a bit, ready to keep demanding, ready to insist that if he was going to stay with Din for work purposes, he had a _right_ to know what of Din's past he was about to trapeze through in the name of keeping up.

But he didn't.

The fact he managed not to maybe should have made him feel proud of himself – there was a time not terribly long ago, a time still within the _now_ where he would have done just that – but instead all he felt was shame.

Paz was starting to realize how much he hated the person he'd been his entire life.

At least that explained a few things.

Din grabbed Paz by the vambrace and dragged him into the cockpit and walked Paz through the take-off process and Paz realized it wasn't mercy driving Din to do this: it was so Paz could escape if Din couldn't make it with him and Paz head the sob well before he realized it had come from him. Din was there, suddenly, his helmet off, his hands on Paz's helmet, pausing, asking, and Paz took the damned thing off and Din asked him what was going through his head and perhaps Din had meant _in that exact moment,_ but Paz told him everything. From the anger to the self-hate to the fear of Din not making it through this to feeling like he was going into this blind, all Paz held was Din's to hold now, too.

When he was done, all Din said was _Greef was there, with Cara and Grogu and IG, when we had an e-web cannon aimed at us._ A strangled-sounding _What?_ escaped Paz and Din, gracious Din, sighed and told Paz about the almost-betrayal, about how Grogu had stopped them all from being melted down to nothing, about how he'd expected to die there and tried to make the others leave so they could survive, told Paz all about the impossible droid who'd saved his life and his faith in the same choice and all the sudden how Din had rushed past the droid the only other two times he'd heard it mentioned were a wound Din was trying to mend on his own and not a footnote in this whole tangled mess that _now_ was comprised of.

Despite Din's pain, it was Din whose thumb was swiping away Paz's tears, keeping his face dry, keeping the burned-on tear tracks from any further damage.

Paz kissed Din's knuckles and Din offered him a small, sad smile that was, somehow, the _most intimate thing_ Paz had ever been witness to, nevertheless experienced.

Paz shifted so he was facing Din, angles awkward with the way the co-pilot's seat was built, but Din did the same and Paz rested their foreheads together. They stayed like that for a while, the stars passing them in indistinguishable streaks while they were _still._

For once, time had yielded to _them._

And then, Din took a deep breath and words seemed to just _start falling out of him_ and he told Paz of Kuiil, of first meeting Cara and the animosity and indifference that seemed to be at war within her, of how many he'd killed to keep his son safe and Paz felt like he'd been kicked in the gut as he realized, despite all the different versions of Din he held in his head, _Din the father_ wasn't one of them.

Din was still talking, though, each word shaky, each word coming a little further apart as if they did not want to be dragged out into the open and Paz grabbed Din's hand and when Din paused Paz told him he only wanted to know these things if Din _wanted_ to say them. When Din was silent, Paz pulled Din into him. Din fell to his knees and rested his head on Paz's thigh so Paz stroked Din from temple to the back of his head over and over again while Din buried his face in Paz's armor. It felt wrong, seeing Din in what had to have been discomfort while he was seeking the exact opposite, so Paz managed to coax Din onto his feet so he could stand as well and start shedding his armor.

Din did the same and the symbolism did not escape Paz; they were already so vulnerable in this particular iteration of _now_ that stripping themselves of their literal armor seemed like the only sensible thing to do.

Din hit several buttons before he lead Paz to the hammock. Crawling in was an ordeal – Paz was already troubled in the balance department and now the thing he was supposed to sleep on _moved_ with even the smallest amount of force. Bu he managed – the trick turned out to be letting Paz get in first and settle in and then having Din crawl on top of him. It was perfect, the way the hammock gave so Din could fit perfectly against him. They laid chest-to chest, Paz's back to the floor and Din's to the ceiling, Paz's arms wrapped so tightly around Din that Din would have had to struggled to move, Din's face buried into the crook of Paz's neck, his hair threatening to tickle Paz's nose. They laid there like that, the ship (hopefully) on autopilot, no words shared shed until Din told him _It's so weird being someone_ and Paz could identify the sentiment Din was trying to share but couldn't understand _why_ Din could possibly feel like that.

When Din explained that he'd always felt either ignored or singled out within the covert until he became beroya – and then he'd just felt _alone_ – Paz knew it was insensitive at best to laugh but a single syllable of it escaped before Paz informed him that there wasn't a soul within the covert that didn't look at him and realize they were looking at something not unlike the stars.

Stars, Paz told him, were such a constant that you could navigate by them, but they were always so unreachable – even in a ship, you'd be burned up well before you reached one – and you had to content yourself with _knowing_ they were and always would be there to look to, even in the darkness.

A soft _And now?_ came from Din and Paz wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure how to explain that even when he was literally laying on him, Din still felt so far away sometimes, still felt like looking at the stars; no matter how much you adored the stars, no matter how much faith you poured into them, no matter how much you relied on them, they were _still the stars,_ unfaltering but incapable of returning your affections.

And it wasn't that Din had not shown Paz affection, or trust, or faith, but rather that Paz was so aware that whatever destiny was hunting Din down was so much bigger than Paz could ever be, and Paz was terrified he'd find himself in the way instead of next to Din if he wasn't careful.

Because even with everything _now_ had brought to life between them, Din was still such a bright light that he seemed to be more of a sun – a particular, familiar, _vital_ star – that the idea of the stars themselves.

Paz must have been quiet for too long, because Din propped himself up so he could look Paz in the eye. He did not look angry or impatient or frustrated or anything even remotely close to those things.

Just confused. A little scared. But honest. So, so honest that Paz's heart skipped a beat.

All Paz could possibly say was _Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,_ and Din looked like he might laugh for a heartbeat but instead responded with the same and a smile that let Paz believe the stars could love him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I watch a fucktonne of Doctor Who last night while laying the foundation for this chapter? Yes. Do I regret anything? Absolutely not. 
> 
> “When you love the Doctor, it's like loving the stars themselves. You don't expect a sunset to admire you back."


	54. Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara, Omera, and Winta go back to Sorgan; Peli has a plan; this makes both the Armorer and Cobb nervous and Peli hasn't even started explaining it to them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now back to our regularly scheduled chaos.

Not terribly long after Paz and Din had been dropped off on Navarro, Omera had mentioned maybe _going home_ for a little while and Winta had said she missed _her other friends_ and Cara had looked at Peli like Peli should have entered the coordinates for Sorgan five minutes ago.

After Peli made sure Winta understood her new friends had to stay with her and therefor could not meet said other friends, Peli adjusted the ship's course so they'd be making a pit stop on Sorgan.

“Shit,” Omera hissed when they were almost there, “Clothes, laundry...”

“We'll do it for you,” Peli volunteered the Armorer and Cobb alongside her, “All of it in your rooms?”

“Uhm,” Omera looked to Cara and Cara nodded so Omera said, “Yes. Please. Thank you. All three.”

Peli just grinned and assured her it was no problem before disappearing back to the cockpit.

–

There was so much _touching_ going on barely more than an arm's length away from the Armorer as Peli and Cobb said goodbye to Cara, Omera, and Winta.

“Tell my friends I'll miss them!” Winta told Peli.

“I will,” Peli was smiling as she made the promise.

“And you,” Cara and Cobb gripped each other's arms at the elbows, “You take care of yourself.”

“You say that like I planned on not doing that,” Cobb was also smiling. Cara smiled but her eyes clearly said _You're without them for now, and I know how that tears at you._

“We know how to get a hold of you,” Omera told them, “If we need anything, we'll call.”

Omera and Cara each gave the Armorer small nods that seemed more a formality than a goodbye; she wasn't kidding herself – they'd both lost so much at the hands of the Empire. They had every reason to hate her.

Once their goodbyes were finished, the three of them watched the small family walk away, watched them head towards their village.

Watched them go home.

Peli started closing the ramp and the Armorer crossed her arms and turned to Peli and asked, “ _We_ will do their laundry?”

On Peli's other side, Cobb did the exact same thing.

Peli looked the Armorer up and down, then did the same to Cobb before she turned back to the Armorer, nodded, muttered something that sounded like _yep_ , and headed back towards the cockpit.

The Armorer stared at her, felt rooted where she stood. Peli managed to round the first corner before Cobb started running.

“Peli!” he called after her, “Peli! What's your plan?”

The Armorer felt like she shouldn't be surprised, not really. 

If anyone was going to be two steps ahead of everyone else, it would be Peli.

–

It took _hours_ longer than expected to get to Omera's hut.

Oh, they'd gotten to the village on time, sure, but everyone in every village they'd taught how to defend itself wanted to see them, wanted to ask after the others, wanted to tell them what the New Republic's presence had been like, wanted to see how _they_ were doing and know if they were back to stay and give them _gifts_ to show their gratitude. 

It had been a lot of smiling and nodding and the same small handful of half-sentences over and over.

When they finally were _inside_ he hut, Cara just laid face-down on the floor and offered Omera and Winta her the longest, loudest sigh she could manage.

“Well said,” Omera agreed.

“Can I go see my friends?” Winta asked.

“Absolutely,” Omera smiled, “be back before sundown.”

“I remember,” Winta rolled her eyes, “Thanks, mommy!”

And just like that, Winta skipped back outside.

“Oh to have the energy of a child,” Cara muttered. Omera made a soft sound that Cara knew meant to convey the general feeling of _I'm both amused and sympathetic._

“It's nice to be back,” Omera said as she started clearing the dust and dirt that had settled in their absence.

“Yeah,” Cara rolled onto her back, “it is.”

Omera made a noise that Cara didn't entirely understand, so Cara got to her feet and grabbed Omera gently by the wrist and pulled her towards her and Omera held Cara close.

“It's better with you here,” Omera told her. A wave of guilt rose up and threatened to break right over Cara's very core.

Cara's job on Navarro had been a thing they'd talked about at length and came to the idea that, once Cara had saved up enough money, they'd find a safer planet while Omera raised Winta around friends and familiarity. 

It had been hard, and at many, many points it had been painful, but there was a shared long-term goal, a future they were trying to build together.

But now that she was with Omera again?

There was no way she was going back to that job.

Omera seemed to sense it because she held Care a little tighter and made a pleased sound.

“It's better with you here,” Cara echoed, but she meant it, word-for-word.

–

The Armorer was starting to wonder how long the three of them were going to manage to not die doing something stupid. A few days, if they were lucky. Long enough to land on Lothal, hopefully.

Peli was navigating. She was also looking impossibly – worryingly – proud of herself.

“Peli,” Cobb had been sitting sideways in the co-pilot's seat with his soles of his shoes pushing into Peli's side for almost fifteen minutes, “Peli, what's your plan? Why are we doing laundry?”

“Oh!” Peli finally responded to one of his questions, “Don't forget to strip your bedding, too.”

“Peliiiii,” Cobb gave her a small push, “you can't avoid telling us why we're doing laundry forever.”

“Challenge accepted,” Peli laughed and Cobb groaned and pushed her again. Peli shoved him with another laugh.

The Armorer's time estimate for their communal survival narrowed as she watched the sibling-esque shoving match that had managed to usurp _flying the ship._

If they were going to go down like this, she figured she should at least have a front-row seat to _the dumbest fucking way a Mandalorian has ever been taking out by someone else._

At least they were laughing despite how the shoves got more violent with each round.

It was interesting: Cobb had advantages in both height and weight, but Peli had her _strength._ She may look petite, but every bit of her had a _weight_ behind it that Cobb clearly had not expected but was adjusting to. Despite the violence, they were _having fun,_ the question ignored as they laughed and shoved and laughed some more.

In its own way, it reminded her of her covert, especially the younger members, and the way they'd spar for reasons other than honor or pride or glory.

Sometimes, it was just _fun_ to hit someone repeatedly with their consent.

Eventually, one particularly rough shove from Cobb that made contact with Peli's side sent Peli into something that set off a ship-wide alarm complete with flashing red lights and a high-pitched shrieking sound that played in a loop. 

Peli and Cobb were quick to work together, no words or gestures shared between them, each pressing buttons until the alarm stopped.

Silence tried to settle into the noiseless vacuum around them, but Cobb chuckled and Peli threw her head back and laughed and Cobb laughed harder and they were supporting themselves on each other, Cobb's forearm on Peli's shoulder and both of Peli's hands on one of Cobb's shoulders.

The Armorer couldn't help but smile as she watched them try to get control of themselves.

“Okay,” Peli managed after a while, “Okay, so here's what I'm thinking,” she'd laughed so hard she'd started crying at one point and she wiped at the corners of her eyes as she kept talking, “Lothal was a _major_ resistance hub, and still had a _lot_ of New Republic activity.”

“Why do I feel like this is going to end in breaking into a New Republic building and stealing something?” Cobb asked.

“Oh come on,” Peli rolled her eyes and gave Cobb a shove and the Armorer took half a step back because now they were _standing_ and that meant the whole ship might be fair game for a second round, “That's not until at least our _second visit._ ”

“What's our first visit, then?” the Armorer asked.

“People talk _a lot_ when they're getting their speeders and ships fixed,” Peli reminded them, “If we're going to break in, we'll need to know what's where and who's coming and going.”

“Huh,” Cobb sat back down in the co-pilot's seat, “That's...actually rather brilliant.”

Peli looked pleased with herself.

“So,” Peli continued, “I figure, where's another place people talk a lot? Besides bars and cantinas or whatever, I mean. Laundromats!”

“And if we have a lot of laundry to do,” Cobb followed Peli's logic and kept it going, “we have a lot of chances to overhear things.”

Peli nodded.

“Who's going to be the one doing the laundry, then?” the Armorer asked, “Not Peli, with her speeder repair.”

“Well,” Peli turned to look at the Armorer, “the other place people tend to talk a lot is at diners and similar dining places, so whoever doesn't do the laundry should probably try to embed themselves in one of those.”

“Just,” the Armorer tried to follow, “sit down all day and listen?”

“As waitstaff,” Peli corrected.

“Oh,” the Armorer felt a sense of dread creeping over her, “So. Cobb, then.”

“I have a feeling it'll be a little harder for a Mandalorian to get a job as a waiter than someone like me,” Cobb seemed to be having a similar creeping revelation the Armorer was having.

“A Mandalorian sitting in a laundromat for days again is going to get noticed,” the Armorer crossed her arms.

“Up to you how you want to handle it,” Peli shrugged and sat down in the pilot's seat, “We'll be coming out of hyperspace soon though.”

Peli's attention was completely focused on making sure the ship came back to sublight perfectly. When the stars looked like stars again, Peli kept talking: “I won't make you do anything.”

There was a lot Peli left unsaid – or perhaps just a lot left in the Armorer's head that she thought she deserved to hear from Peli.

_Three sets of ears would be best._

_We don't know what the New Republic has on Mandalore and her people._

_Are you willing to make sacrifices like the rest of us have?_

And, perhaps most damning, _Why is your Creed more important than finding out if there's more danger coming after Din?_

–

Cobb and the Armorer were waiting by the ramp for Peli. Not that they couldn't have lowered the ramp and left on their own; it just seemed _weird_ to not wait for her.

The Armorer had a sack of laundry slung across her back. She was in clothes Cobb had never seen before, sans helmet, and she gripped one of the sack's straps so hard that her knuckles were white.

Peli came bounding down the hallway.

“Sorry, that took so long,” she sounded like she'd been running.

“Where are your droids?” Cobb asked.

“I want to get set up first,” Peli explained as she started lowering the ramp, “No sense in half the market tripping over them while I try to find a spot.”

Cobb couldn't really argue with that.

Peli turned around to face them and seemed to only then notice the Armorer. Peli was staring and Cobb felt he might die of secondhand embarrassment. Cobb had seen it twice now, the mangled scarring that surrounded the Armorer's one all-white eye, and twice now he'd done everything he could to avoid looking directly at it. But Peli. Peli seemed to have thrown every social rule out the window for this.

“You're...” Peli started saying and Cobb wondered if he could scale the ramp and let himself just drop down onto the planet, height be damned.

“Peli,” the Armorer's voice was tight, a mixture of terror and anger, “I want you to know that while, at this point, you could probably attempt to murder me in my sleep and I'd willingly overlook it, but if the next mouth out of your words was going to be _half-blind,_ I will gut you where you stand.”

Cobb thanked his brain for putting the transposed words in the correct order instead of repeating them.

Peli's mouth opened and closed a few times and she looked away and the Armorer looked _hurt._

Right before the ramp was safe to start walking down, Peli turned back towards the Armorer and asked, “If the next words were going to be _really pretty_ does the threat still stand, ooorrrrrr..?”

The Armorer's shoulders dropped and her entire face looked _shocked._

Cobb threw his hands in the air and started walking down the ramp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHAHAHAHAHAHA I THOUGHT I GOT THIS STORY GOING BACK IN CHAPTER 7.
> 
> Peli's regained control of the single brain cell aboard _The Subtle_. Well. Mostly regained control of it.
> 
> I've been waiting to get to that last scene scene for DAYS and I damn near condensed chapters 48-53 into a few paragraphs to get to it early...but decided to pretend I have some patience and didn't do that.


	55. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Paz collect their first bounty together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some couples have first dates. They could have been some couples, but no. That would have been safe.

Despite supposedly having sent several bounty hunters after this target before them, Paz and Din knew very little about who they were looking for. They had the planet, the coordinates it had last been seen at, and a proverbial giant question mark next to its species.

They could be looking for anything.

The planet was a frozen desert, the wind somehow so sharp it managed to cut through Paz's blacks. It was dark out; Din had told him it was almost always dark on this planet.

Thanks to his helmet's HUD, he could tell that the ground was a gray-white with periodic patches of blue shining through. Everything, save Din, was cold. The ground, the air, the building. There were no tracks cut into the ice, so Paz assumed everything that traveled here was either able to levitate or had impeccable balance. 

At the very least, there were no supplies driven through here on shipment trains, if supplies were dropped here at all.

Paz had to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. Din seemed unphased, and Paz had spent the last several minutes rehearsing how many ways he was going to ask Din if his internal temperature register was broken. Or something along those lines.

Despite the brutality of the cold, so far this had been almost too easy.

Paz had told reminded himself of this a few times as they made their way through the thus-far-empty building. Every time he tried to say so out loud, Din shushed him.

Sure, there had been some dead bodies here and there, but none of them had matched their target and none of them looked fresh. Mangled, sometimes disemboweled, faces contorted, all in all making up a sort of horror horror show that mocked the dead, but not fresh.

Din _had_ to be seeing those, too.

The building itself had been abandoned for a long, long time. The windows – narrow strips at the tops of rooms once covered in glass but now just feeding spots for the wind tunnels that were the hallways. The only door was the one they'd come in; Din cautioned against trying the roof in case the roof collapsed. 

Paz didn't ask if that meant they were still in danger of the roof collapsing while they were inside the building; he didn't _actually_ want to know the answer.

“What do you think killed them?” Paz whispered.

“Probably our target,” Din finally said _something,_ “We're going to have to bring this one in cold.”

“You could have said warm was an option before now,” Paz tried to joke – must have succeeded in joking because Din laughed – and then the sound of something dropping and skittering came from down the hallway.

“Paz,” Din was very still.

“You're about to tell me I just got us both killed, aren't you?” Paz asked.

“I was going to say _run,_ but if you're resigned to die here you could at least ready your gun,” Din sighed as he pulled out his blaster.

Paz was _not_ resigned to die here, but if he had to, going out shooting was going to be far better than going out _trying to run over the ice field_ that was between them and the ship.

So he readied his gun.

He lowered his scope to try to get a better idea of what they were up against. Someone – no some _thing_ – was at the far end of the hall, standing on what looked like over a dozen needle-point legs, scuttling towards them. It...it didn't seem to have a head, just a _canister_ that the legs came out of.

“Din,” Paz said as he used his scope to try to identify what could possibly be coming at them, “Din, is that-”

“A droid,” Din seemed unimpressed.

“That would explain how it's surviving here,” Paz muttered.

At least it wasn't flesh and blood. If something like that could _evolve naturally,_ Paz was going to fight the first god he met for allowing it.

“And why there are so many former Guild members littering the halls,” Din grabbed his blaster, “Wonder which one wound up donating his ship.”

“Is now really the best time to wonder that?” Paz nearly looked away from their target to ask.

“Is now the best time for anything?” Din _did_ glance over to Paz to ask, “Okay, think, the bodies, how many had blasters out?”

“I can't say I was counting,” Paz raised his gun.

“Shh, I'm talking to myself,” Din told him and Paz snorted, “Okay, two, but the rest seemed to have no weapons even though many of them looked like they should have been holding something.”

“Din,” Paz locked his gun onto his armor to better brace himself against the recoil, “Din, why is that important?”

“Either the droid ate the weapons,” Din pocketed his blaster and Paz made a strangled sound, “or the droid has almost twenty blasters.”

_“Why did you put away your gun!?”_ Paz was yelling. He wasn't sure how Din _wasn't_ yelling.

“Blasters won't help,” Din pulled out one of his knives, “You cannot convince me that at least nineteen bounty hunters have died here and not _one of them_ could have taken down a droid at fewer than twenty paces. Yours isn't a blaster, though.”

Oh. So Din _was_ paying very close attention to the bodies.

“So now what?” Paz asked.

“Cover me,” Din told him before he took of running.

_Towards_ the droid.

Paz kicked his past self for ever even _thinking_ Din could have been a coward.

Paz started to fire – just to the left of Din – in short bursts so he could adjust in case Din's path towards the droid shifted.

The muzzle flashes were blinding, even with his HUD doing its best to adjust to the light, and he realized he was going to have to _just keep firing_ and wait until either he was put of bullets or Din gave some sort of signal that he should, well, _stop firing._

An arc of red sparks came from somewhere between Paz and where he'd last tracked the droid.

That was probably his signal to stop firing.

Din had his _entire hand_ inside the droid, but the droid seemed to have at least three feet stabbed into Din.

Paz ran forward, favorite knife in hand.

Din roared as he _threw_ the droid off of him, but the thing was quick to pounce again. Most of its feet hit Din's armor, but Paz could _hear_ it tear Din's blacks.

Paz drove his knife into the canister that connected the legs as Din tried to pull a leg out of, well, out of his own leg. Paz's knife hit its mark and the droid powered down.

“Holy shit,” Paz could hear his blood rush in his ears, “Holy shit.”

“One word for it,” Din grunted.

“Two words,” Paz surprised himself with how easy it was to banter with the thing no longer attacking them, “Don't pull them out.”

“What, am I supposed to walk back to the ship like this?” Din asked.

“You'll freeze to death before we could even get back to the ship,” Paz pointed out, “That one's in deep enough I'm afraid your _blood_ would freeze in your veins.”

Din grunted but stopped pulling at the leg in his leg.

“What are you suggesting, then?” Din asked.

“Well,” Paz took his knife back – then stabbed it several more times for good measure – and then kept talking, “I could cut off the leg and carry you back to the ship.”

“And the target?” Din asked.

“I can drag it,” Paz shrugged.

Din made a noise like he was going to try to walk back on his own once the droid's leg was cut away.

“I will knock you out,” Paz warned him as he ripped the offending leg apart at the joint, “And that's a promise, not a threat.”

“Fine,” Din mumbled. 

Paz was as careful as he could be in slinging Din over his shoulder; no care was reserved for the target.

He walked as fast as he could. Din was almost too quiet, but Paz could feel Din's breathing against him, so he did not stop to check for life signs.

But oh, how he wanted to.

Once they were inside the tiny ship. Paz flung the droid to the other side and laid Din down on the ground.

“Med kit,” Din's hissed command was weak and Paz felt like something might choke him from the inside out if Din's next words were any weaker.

“You think?” The question was more on escaped fear trying to keep him moving than a rhetorical one. Still, he heard Din huff something that might have been as attempt at laughing at him.

Paz pulled the med kit and started by cutting away Din's blacks around the droid leg. He worked as steadily as he could and Din didn't flinch, didn't even wince, through the entire thing.

He wondered how Din was so calm, so complacent, a few times before he realized it was more likely shock than self-control.

Paz started working quicker.

–

It was far too long before the bacta started working and Din was able to start having a conversation with Paz.

“Are all your bounties like this?” Paz asked as he helped Din into the spare blacks they'd brought.

“Not usually, no,” Din deadpanned, “Some are actually boring.”

Paz laughed despite himself and Din chuckled.

All told, Din's blacks had been punctured five times in addition to the worst one. Of those, three had broken skin and one would have needed stitches if they hadn't had the bacta on hand.

Din had managed to get through the shock – even with bacta, the idea of shock terrified Paz more than dying without his honor and he couldn't even try to imagine what it felt like to be going through it – but Din was _exhausted_ and in no shape to fly.

“We need to get off this rock,” Din said as Paz placed him in the hammock, “Before the engine freezes or worse.”

“Uhm,” Paz gestured to himself and hoped that got his questions across, “Wait, worse is an option?”

“It's an option,” Din shivered, “I've flown in worse shape.”

Paz made a sound to tell Din he didn't quite believe him, but Din tried to stand up and Paz put a hand on Din's chest to keep him down.

“You or the ship?” Paz asked.

“Both,” Din shrugged, but he relaxed and Paz realized Din _may not_ quite be grasping the extent of his injuries.

Paz sighed and took his hand off Din's chest with a muttered _fine._ He watched as Din limped to the cockpit and cursed how damned stubborn the man could be.

But then Din sat in the copilot's seat and Paz realized he had one fear that ran deeper than his fear of shock.

And he was about to face it to keep Din from flying.

“I'm glad you're here,” Din told him as he sat in the pilot's seat.

“We'll see if you say that after we're in the air,” Paz muttered as he tried to remember how to do this, “I'm glad you're here, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every now and again, when I know the next chapter is going to be explicit, I debate updating the work's summary before I even start writing the chapter.
> 
> That said, guess what the next chapter is!
> 
> (If you said 'happening after a small time skip,' you're not wrong.)


	56. The Strength of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then they fucked!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's exactly what is says on the tin. Well, plus some plot at the beginning. But. You know. Plot happens.
> 
> Did someone order another round of Paz monologuing with a side of fucking?

The flight back to Navarro was _agonizing._ Din was an excellent instructor; Paz was a terrible student. He panicked a few times and botched things that could have gone so, so much worse but the fact that that notion was supposed to be comforting made him panic even more.

He'd managed to seal the exhaust vents and all Din could say was _How!?!_ Paz knew the rest of the question was _did you manage to do that? You were learning how to use the internal comms how did you even **find** the button that shut the vents?_

All Paz had been able to do was shrug and make a few panicked sounds that he had previously been so completely unaware he could make that he wished he'd been able to maintain that specific strain of ignorance.

Din had been calm and walked him through re-opening the vents and Paz spent the rest of the flight sitting on his hands unless Din told him to do something.

Paz had gone back to the Guild by himself, had dragged the destroyed droid with one hand through the marketplace for everyone to gawk at, broken-off leg piece in his other hand. Once he saw the man Din had spoken with, he all but threw the droid at his feet and informed him whoever wanted it would have to settle for a missing half a leg. He held the thing out and spun it in his one hand slowly, showing it off, letting everyone know he'd laid claim to the thing.

Din hadn't told him anything about whether or not that sort of behavior was accepted, the taking a trophy.

_Is he..._ was all the man said. He looked horrified but also in such a complete disbelief that if he wasn't able to pull himself out of it soon, he'd spend the rest of existence in a place where _nothing_ was true because nothing was real.

Paz shook his head, a no, and no more questions were asked. The man handed Paz a case and Paz took it, his thanks a small nod.

_Need another one?_ the man asked.

_No,_ Paz wanted to say, _No, I don't want to have to do that to Din again why the **fuck** would you hang onto a bounty that killed so many..._

Instead what he said was _yeah._

He had people to feed, a growing child – someone else's child, but that did not matter – whose entire life had been uprooted and these people deserved to be able to get the best things possible.

Which meant more bounties.

How had Din split his life like this, the Din of the covert and Din of the Hunt, depositing whatever remained and turning around and doing it again? This was so much more work than Paz had expected.

It explained why Din had always felt so distant the rare times he'd stayed at the covert more than a few hours. It wasn't that he was trying to keep everyone away, wasn't that he felt like he was better than everyone else, wasn't that he wanted to keep himself apart from _everyone else._

Din was just _exhausted._

And yet, he'd always been able to hold his own when Paz had challenged him to a sparring match.

If there _were_ any gods left, not just for them as Mandalorians but for any of the scattered faiths that had managed to hold onto their believers despite everything, Paz realized Din could probably hold his own against them, too.

He pushed that train of thought away and secured the new tracking fob in-between his blacks and his armor and started heading back to the ship.

–

Back at the ship, Din was resting in the hammock, his breathing not quite even, but he barely stirred when Paz returned.

It was strange, almost like even mostly asleep Din _knew_ it was Paz and things were safe.

Paz pulled the tracking fob out, the case of payment gripped in his other hand, and decided the best course of action, for right now, was to seal the ship up and wait until Din woke on his own before he even tried to get the ship in the air again.

–

The coming weeks had been slow; Paz had fought Din in all ways but literal trying to convince him to _let someone who knew what they were doing _treat his leg. When Din had finally, finally relented, the doctor attending him had too much to say about how close Din had come to dying and had thrown around phrases like _if you value your life_ and _do you know how lucky you are_ and _if you'd waited any longer.___

__Din got it – he'd almost lost his life and his leg and would have if he hadn't listened to Paz – but he _did_ look right at Paz when he said he knew how lucky he was._ _

__They paid more than Paz had anticipated but were sent away with something Paz had forgotten the name of almost immediately that was supposed to help with the deep-tissue healing._ _

__All they had to do – all they could do – was wait._ _

__They'd called the others and Cobb had picked up. They told him what happened, opened with _Din's okay but..._ and Cobb looked like he was ready to steal Peli's ship to come collect them. When Paz said he'd take the next bounties or bounties alone so Din's leg could recover, both Cobb and Din seemed ready to damage one of _his_ legs._ _

__But, in the end, the fact credits made the world move for you instead of against you was not a fact that could be changed by feelings like love and fear._ _

__They settled into a routine: they'd go to and from the Guild together to keep all appearances that Din was involved in the actually hunting., Paz would hunt, Din would wait, and they'd go back together to collect the bounty. All the while, Din managed to shove the worst of the resentment he was feeling away; Paz could tell it ran much deeper than the periodic furious looks and generally titchy affect Din carried about him._ _

__After one particularly stressful failed attempt at finding a target – he'd been hit by a speeder, fallen into a river, and had a member of the local wildlife try to steal his gun, in that order – Paz came back to the ship to find Din _cooking_ of all things and before Paz could ask what he was cooking – all he'd gotten out was a _what_ – Din informed him that he was perfectly alright to stand and do something as simple as _feed them.__ _

__They hadn't talked about this, hadn't eaten much beyond the ration packs, hadn't ever formally limited Din's activities outside of hunting._ _

__And it had so clearly been bothering Din worse than Paz had imagined._ _

__Paz set about stripping himself of his armor while whatever this conversation was going to be took shape. He was _hot_ despite being soaked to the bone and felt _gross_ and wanted to remedy at least one of those feelings as soon as possible._ _

__Paz finished his question, picked up right after the _what_ and Din hung his head. _ _

__He'd been treating Din gently, he knew, and apparently he'd been treating him too gently. He turned off the heat and _growled_. For this, he got a half-hearted _fuck you_ and a cold shoulder._ _

___Make me,_ he'd commanded and Din's eyes met his, wild and _furious_ but Din looked away and Paz growled again and shoved Din and told him _tell me to stop and I will_ and Din told him _don't you dare_ and lunged._ _

__Paz side-stepped, catching Din's wrist and spinning Din around. Din refused to go down, though, caught Paz's ankle with his own and used that to pivot himself so he was facing Paz._ _

___This is new,_ Paz thought, this thing where Din used Paz's size for his own advantage, and it threw off Paz's entire strategy._ _

__Din threw himself at Paz head-first and Paz caught Din by the shoulders. Din put a hand on either of Paz's forearms and swung to kick Paz in the sternum._ _

__Paz didn't manage to dislodge Din so he could move out of the way in time and took the full force of the kick. He went back and Din let go and landed on his feet and went down to a crouch but before Paz could figure out what he was doing, Din _lept_ and both of Din's hands made contact with Paz's shoulders. Paz remained standing – Din had always been _light_ compared to him – but it seemed Din had planned on that because the next thing he knew both of Din's legs were wrapped around his waist._ _

__Din growled and Paz heard his blood _sing_ as his heart sped up. He wrapped his arms around Din – one over Din's back and the other over his waist – and Din _bit down_ on Paz's shoulder and Paz made a sound that he didn't know he could make, high a needy and _demanding.__ _

__Paz tried to back up until he found a wall or a counter to brace his back on but it came out as more of a stumble until his shoulders hit the wall, Din's legs trapped as well. Din chuckled and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized there should probably be a tiny bit of fear accompanying the lust he was drowning in._ _

__Din hummed but pulled back a little and Paz realized he was still being _too gentle_ and Din knew it so he turned around to shove _Din_ into the wall. Din gasped and Paz grinned and would have quite literally ripped Din's damned blacks off if he'd been strong enough to do so. Instead, they stripped each other down until there was nothing physical left to strip away._ _

__They wound up by the makeshift kitchen, food forgotten. Paz was so hard it _hurt_ and no two of his thoughts would link up with each other, and so it was these unfinished thoughts that lead him onward, these incomplete things that saw him turning Din around to face away from him, had him grab Din by the back of the head and all but slam it on what little clear counter space was available._ _

__Din made a sound Paz was quite fond of and used his forearms to better brace himself against the counter while Paz held Din's head down with one hand and locked Din's legs at the ankles and _spread Din's legs apart_ so he could start probing at Din's asshole with a thumb he'd only thought to coat with his own saliva at the last possible second._ _

__Din tried to press against him but Paz shifted the hand that was holding Din's head down so it held Din's hips still. Din grumbled something Paz couldn't even try to decipher and tried again, tried using Paz's legs as leverage but Paz twisted his thumb and Din _keened_ and Paz wondered if he could bring Din to orgasm like this. _ _

__He _could_ try, if nothing else._ _

__Paz worked his index finger inside Din as well, the angle awkward and after a few movements he decided to let his thumb slip out. Din _whined_ when he did, though, and Paz couldn't help the chuckle that escaped when he told Din to be patient._ _

__Din issued the same challenge – _Make me_ – and Paz went as still as he could manage and Din issued a series of curses in their shared language that Paz had never heard strung together like that._ _

__And then Din _slammed_ back onto Paz's finger and Paz growled and moved the hand on Din's hips to Din's hair and _pulled_ and Din arched his back while Paz's middle finger joined his index finger and started working Din open. He let Din try to fuck himself on his fingers for a little while, getting to know the points Din wanted him to hit. Din was _loud_ and the sounds he was making were eroding what little self-control Paz had been able to keep about him._ _

__Din begged and cursed and moaned and accidentally cleared everything off the counter while trying to find a way to get a better angle to force Paz to go deeper inside of him. Paz told him a few times to be patient and each command had made Din try harder to find that angle he was searching for._ _

__It was a single _please_ that shattered Paz's control, though._ _

__He withdrew his fingers and used both hands to make sure he could bury his dick inside of Din on the first try. Din was almost too eager and slammed himself backwards as soon as Paz had started entering him and Paz had not been ready for that. They both wound up stumbling backwards half a step before Paz forced Din back to where he'd been with the force of his first thrust, stepped forward again with Din, gripped Din's hips so tight he _knew_ there would be two handprint shaped bruises once they were done here, and set about fucking Din with no regard given to ideas like _gently_ and _carefully.__ _

__Under him, Din panted and whined and _clenched_ and Paz roared and reached forward to pull Din's hair hard enough to pull Din's head up and Din's knees started to give and Paz wasn't sure how this was going to go but Din didn't tell him to stop or wait, so he kept fucking Din like he wasn't afraid of hurting him._ _

__And that was what this whole thing was about, wasn't it? Din needed to show Paz that he was strong despite his injury and Paz needed to show Din he trusted Din to know his own limits._ _

__Din whined Paz's name and Paz _whimpered_ and leaned forward to cover Din's back with his chest and stomach. His thrusts got shorter but he was able to bury himself deeper and didn't have to hold Din's hips steady like this, so he reached around and grabbed Din's cock and Din let out a strangled cry and threw his head back – right into Paz's forehead – and _came_ in Paz's hand._ _

__Din's breaths were coming in short, tightly wound gasps as Paz kept fucking him with a whispered _tell me to stop,_ to which Din growled _don't you dare_ despite how limp Din's entire body had gone._ _

__And, really, what else was Paz supposed to do with a command like that besides follow it?_ _

__Paz stood up straight again so he could fuck Din with longer strokes. Under him, Din whimpered with each thrust and Paz had both hands on Din's hips so he could keep Din steady._ _

__Din's entire form was pliant, _spent_ , and they were going to have to relocate somewhere flat if he wanted Paz to do more than, in effect, use him as a fuck toy while Paz got himself off._ _

__He informed Din of this and Din replied with _then use me like a fuck toy_ and Paz _roared_ and felt something inside him snap as he picked up his pace. His hips and thighs _slammed_ against Din with each thrust and Din made noises that, in any other situation, might sound like pain sounds but they were accompanied by Paz's name and a series of pleas to keep going._ _

__And then Din _clenched_ and Paz doubled over, pinned Din against the counter, and came with a cry that rattled his soul._ _

__They stayed there for a moment, chests heaving, Paz trying to get enough wits and strength about him to stand up again so Din could stand too, but it was a thing without much success so instead Paz let himself slide out of Din so he could sit on the floor and Din was _right there_ turned to face him, in Paz's lap with his legs wrapped around Paz's waist, kissing Paz with such an intensity that Paz was pretty sure Din had caught his lip on a tooth but couldn't care enough to stop and take stock of whether or not he was bleeding; he returned the kiss with an equal intensity, hands wandering and pulling and touching everything they could._ _

__He had no idea how long they sat there, Paz on the floor and Din on Paz, but eventually their bodies caught up with the exertion and Din rested his forehead against Paz's and Paz closed his eyes and held Din close and let himself just absorb the moment._ _

__When the moment was over, Paz informed Din he knew of a river they could wash off in and Din laughed like all was forgiven._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look man if I had a label maker I'd just have it print out 'fucking' a few hundred times and affix the labels to every tinned food thing we have and see how long it took my wife to ask what the hell I did, but I don't have a label maker so I'm going to keep calling smut chapter 'tins.'
> 
> ~~Heh. _Fucking Beans_.~~
> 
> ~~I'm going to buy a label maker.~~


	57. Sidelined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb's stuck washing dishes and passes the time by wondering how everyone else's attempts to get information are going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one to check in on Cobb! I had the end note for this chapter typed up well before I was done writing #56, so I kept almost turning this one into porn, too.
> 
> ~~Also, I've ordered a label maker.~~

Foodservice work.

Cobb hadn't been at all opposed to it, even if there was a large part – and often _loud_ part – of him that thought it would have been hilarious to see the Armorer show up and ask if which ever establishment she'd just walked into was hiring. Worlds were carried on the backs of those most people didn't deem worthy of looking at twice, he knew this, he'd _lived this_.

It was just that, when he'd envisioned working a foodservice job, he'd been aiming to find a place looking for someone to join the waitstaff like Peli had said. It turned out they'd landed in a place that, despite being such an integral place for the New Republic's victory, was no fiscally better off for it.

He'd been washing dishes for this place for almost three weeks now and he hadn't once even been asked to fill in for someone who called out or didn't bother to show up at all. Peli had assured him he made the right choice, trusting his instinct and accepting the job instead of moving onto another place. There wasn't much work to go around at all, she pointed out, and if he'd moved on odds were word a stranger was looking for highly specific work would travel faster than he did.

She was right, he knew she was right, but he still felt _useless._ He'd learned _nothing_ that might help them figure out what the New Republic knew about Mandalorians, or Mandalore, or how they might be able to break into a building that didn't want anyone to break into it. He had, however, learn how to scrub and dry dishes so well that there weren't even water streaks on them.

It didn't help that Din and Paz's first bounty had, apparently, seriously wounded Din and the two of them had decided to _just keep working_ until they had a tidy sum put away and there was nothing Cobb could do to help them. They'd called in the middle of the night – for Cobb, not for them – and Cobb had felt still mostly asleep until they started talking.

He'd been calm, all things considered, while he'd been on that call with them, but as soon as the call was over he screamed like _he_ had been the one who'd been wounded. Peli had come running, had held him while he picked himself up again, had been nothing short of patient and understanding of the pain he was in rather than resented how jarring the awakening had to have been for her.

He wondered, often, if Peli knew she was the glue that held everyone else together, both as individuals and as a group.

He never asked.

The Armorer had been spreading out the whole _laundry duty_ thing, often disappearing for days at a time and returning with nothing physical. He wondered where she kept disappearing to – asking _why_ felt like too big of a question – but she didn't offer any explanations on the rare occasions the two of them occupied the same space at the same time.

Cobb had his suspicions as to why, though, and thought Peli never said as much out loud, they seemed to share similar suspicions. And while it annoyed Cobb, it worried Peli to the point Cobb was fairly sure it _hurt_ Peli. All Peli ever said about it was _I was out of line,_ and Cobb never pressed her to say anything more.

Peli, now, _she_ had been incredibly successful in learning things most people couldn't learn if they tried. Movements of New Republic officials, how to tell when someone important was coming, which streets were most frequently blocked off in the name of secluding people deemed important by their position within the new government.

She'd also learned way more about her clients' lives that Cobb thought people talked about with their closest family, but what did Cobb know about people?

Cobb had fallen into the habit of swinging by Peli's little makeshift garage when he was done with work. Most of them time she had her head buried in her work to the extent she wouldn't notice he'd arrived. When he first started showing up unannounced, her droids would alert her to his presence, but once they realized he was, well, someone they knew – or at least someone Peli knew – they'd stopped alerting her.

They still alerted her to anyone else showing up, so Cobb felt alright about how safe she was in this strange place.

One evening, Peli informed her that he reminded her of her brother. Cobb could have cried but Peli sniffed and it was Cobb's turn to hold _her_ tight while she cried. When she was finished crying, she sniffed one last time and scrubbed at her nose with the edge of her sleeve.

“Thanks,” she told him, “Thank you for being.”

Tears had pricked the edge of Cobb's eyes at that, the idea that someone was grateful for him – not the things he did, not the services he offered, but just for existing in the same space – almost too much to process.

And so, he settled into a routine. Work during the day, gate crashing Peli's garage during the evening hours, check to see if there were any messages when he got back to the ship, try to sleep in the too-big and too-cold bed.

At least the sheets smelled clean.

Somewhere in there he'd eat, he'd shower, he'd stretch every muscle he had to make sure they weren't trying to lock up with how much _standing there_ he'd found himself doing.

He missed Din and Paz, individually and as who they became together. He knew this was the best option – Cobb had no experience with bounty hunting or combat training. Or armor, anymore. He loved them both, even if the thought of saying as much aloud terrified him, and he knew on some level or another they'd put protecting him over hitting their target.

And, well, the ship wasn't going to refill itself. Nor were the cabinets. Or the water tank.

Depending on how long they were doing _this,_ they might have to break to find work a few times. It was smart, Cobb knew, that Paz had chosen to continue hunting bounties even despite Din's injury. Din seemed to be healing alright, and Paz was learning how to do the work rather quickly. They, more any of the rest of them, were going to keep the ship in the air and everyone's bellies full.

Although, when they decided they'd amassed enough credits to continue on their journey and came back to him, he was going to lock them in their bedroom with him for _days_ to show him how much he'd missed them.

It was strange, if he thought too hard on it, how easily Din had slipped into his life and then uprooted him entirely; stranger still was how well _Paz_ had fit in, the brash man who'd been so intent to take Din apart and leave the pieces for scavengers to feast on now such an integral part of his life, of _Din's life,_ that his absence left a hole for Cobb to feel.

Cobb considered himself a sensible person; he'd spent too long a slave and he valued not only his freedom but the freedom of those around him as well.

He valued being able to _mean something_ to those around him.

And he'd found that here, meaning. He meant a lot of different things to everyone in this little group that had cobbled itself together, this bunch of survivors who were learning how to tell what shape the future might take.

He couldn't kid himself; there was nothing sensible about what they were doing. It was dangerous, powerful in all the terrifying ways that tended to preclude the collapse of whatever structure said power touched. And most of those structures weren't buildings – they were people and social norms and entire histories.

But Din was a good man – the type of good who'd never call _themselves_ good. And, really, if someone had to tell you they were a good person, they were probably lying. Good people showed you without talking about it.

Din had the power to make every single Mandalorian left in the universe rally to his side and instead of finding out how effective that power was still, he ran from it. He ran and ran and never really stopped running yet he was always there in a crisis, always found a way to the front, always carried a power that bent the universe around him.

There was nowhere else Cobb would rather be that with those who'd rallied to Din when he'd been so wounded he'd almost shattered without Din so much as asking.

And if a few weeks or months even needed to be spent washing dishes, he'd wash every last dish that came to him without so much as a complaint.

This was so, so much bigger than any one of them. Together, though, he believed they'd rise to meet what ever they were headed for, and they would find victory, whatever form victory took for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I _know_ I said I was planning a monster hunter AU after this one, but the part of my brain that's forever feral has latched onto the idea of an Age of Sail AU so who KNOWS what's coming once the next _*checks watch*_ 54 chapters are done.
> 
> Other AU ideas rattling around my pinball machine of a brain may include: near-future dystopian with _Children of Men_ vibes; steampunk; Medieval Highway men; a modern AU but it's really just a bunch of BDSM-themed non sequitur chapters in rapid-fire.


	58. Fallback Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite everything, Peli actually _missed_ working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always easy to fall back on work when the rest of the world seems not quite in focus.

Peli was going to be working late today. This was fine by her; the more work she got done, the more she got paid. The more she got paid, the faster they could get back in the skies.

Sometimes, how quickly her entire life had been upended came into a focus so sharp she worried she'd cut her sense of self on its edges. But if she looked a little closer, things seemed like they were always heading this way, like she was always destined to leave the only planet she'd ever known.

Cobb had already stopped by and then left; he was tired and hungry and Peli had all but beaten him with her new favorite wrench when she heard his stomach growl. They'd laughed as she chased him off, sure, and their laughter was probably the only thing that had kept bystanders from intervening. 

She'd been laying on her back for probably two hours now with this particular speeder. The rest of the world had long fallen away from her senses. As off-kilter as her droids may be, they were good to her. She hadn't told them to alert her when someone was nearby; they'd done it on their own from the first day she'd set up this little shop. They were her little pack of survivors, and they seemed to know it, seemed to know they had to stick together.

The telltale warning chirps started coming from the front of the shop-tent – her second to last client, if she had to guess. 

“Be with you in a minute!” Peli called without looking, “Your engine wasn't your only problem.”

“It's never just the engine,” the Armorer's voice – she had her helmet on – came from the general direction her droids had skittered towards. This was new; the Armorer had all but outright avoided her since they'd landed on Lothal.

“Be a whole lot easier if it was,” Peli said with a huff, “This is why I take half of the estimated cost up front, you know? There's always someone who would rather leave with a ship that's going to kill them than pay for all the repairs.”

The Armorer stayed silent, so Peli kept talking, “I couldn't let someone just drive off with something that's going to kill them. And not because of them, no, it's those around them I can't bear to think about getting maimed or killed because someone they either thought they could trust or were forced to trust values money over the lives of others.

“So, who knows what this guy's going to do,” Peli paused to focus on getting one of the last bolts tightened, “I don't really hope that he'll be reasonable and pay for the full repairs, and it's not because I don't _want_ him to be a fair individual, but more like. I've been at this, you know, at this type of work, for so long that I've learned any hope for fairness is just going to wear me down and open me up to all kinds of disappointment.

“And I've got so many other things I need to spend my energy on. I'm not young anymore, but I don't need to tell you that. It's obvious, I mean, look at me. Youth is wasted on the young, isn't it?” Peli chuckled, “Oh well. At least I've still got this,” she thumped one of her hands on the side of the speeder she was working on, “Though, can't really crouch down half the day anymore. Thankfully these tin cans can fill in where I can't anymore.”

As if on cue, one of her droids tripped over another droid and they started squabbling. Peli laughed before she told them, “Oi! Cut it out, wait till we're off the clock!” They listened to her, some small bickering still ongoing. Peli shook her head and returned her focus to her work.

“They remind me of siblings, sometimes,” Peli kept talking – she wasn't sure if the Armorer was still there but she couldn't really take her eyes off what she was working on until this part was done, “At least, they remind me of what little I can remember of my brother. He was seven years older than me and there was nothing in the universe I wanted more than to grow up faster so I could catch up with him.

“Cobb reminds me of him, really,” Peli paused what she was working on to blink away the traitorous tears that started pricking the edges of her eyes. She cursed herself – she'd been working on mentioning her brother without everything she'd felt when she lost him coming with the words.

“Your brother must have been a good man,” the Armorer finally said something.

“He was,” Peli squeezed her tools a few times to refocus herself and then kept working, “He was so _selfless_ and he always just had this. This sense of deep-rooted _faith_ that the right thing would prevail so long as there were people to fight for it.”

Peli could feel the Armorer's weighted stare even through the speeder, so she said something before anything could be asked: “Same thing that happened to a lot of good folk. The Clone Wars were only a taste of the horrors the Empire would bring, but they still took a lot of good folk well before their time.”

Peli sighed, a heavy thing that tried to loose the knot forming in her chest. She focused on the last bits of repair this particular speeder needed, closed it up, and stood up for the first time in hours – too fast, though, and for a moment the world around her spun and warped and she used one hand to steady herself on the speeder.

The Armorer was suddenly _right there_ to help her steady herself and Peli felt dizzy for several completely unrelated reasons.

“Are you alright?” the Armorer asked.

“Yeah,” Peli closed her eyes to fight off the worst of the world pitching itself in ways it wasn't supposed to, “Stood up to fast.”

The Armorer made an unhappy noise but let go of Peli slowly, making sure Peli was good to stand on her own instead of just releasing her and leaving her to her own devices.

“This guy's owner should be by any minute,” Peli patted the speeder twice, “Then I just have to flush that one's exhaust system and I can call it a day,” she indicated the last speeder she had to work on with a jerk of her thumb, “Shouldn't take too long.”

The Armorer nodded and told her, “I'll leave you to your work,” and left.

Peli frowned but shook her head as if doing so could clear it and got back to work.

–

Peli was almost done closing up shop for the day when her droids started their _incoming someone_ noises.

“Closed for the day!” Peli called over her shoulder as she finished locking her tool chests.

“I'd hope so,” the Armorer's voice came from the front of the shop.

Peli whirled around on her heels to face the Armorer, her smile almost too bright.

“I brought you dinner,” the Armorer told her.

“Thank you,” Peli blinked a few times, “Really, thank you.”

“Least I could do,” the Armorer shrugged.

“Come 'ere,” Peli patted one of her tool chests, “Come, sit.” Peli hoisted herself onto the tool chest next to the one she'd patted and arranged herself in a cross-legged sitting position.

The Armorer handed Peli a container of something that smelled _delicious_ before arranging herself in a similar fashion in the indicated chest.

Peli took a long inhale through her nose, letting the smells settle. There was something relaxing about it, the warmth and the richness coupled with knowing she was done working for the day.

“Have you eaten yet?” Peli asked the Armorer, who shook her head _no_ , “Oi! Door down!”

Three of Peli's droids launched into what might have been a race, might have been some sort of comedy routine, to shut the garage door.

“When there's enough for one, there's enough for two,” Peli put the food down between them. The Armorer hesitated for a moment before she removed her helmet. Peli smiled and opened the container.

Whatever it was besides looking and smelling delicious was a mystery to Peli; what mattered right now was that it was finger food insofar as _can be picked up in bits_ , so they both _could_ partake without having to try to find a fork.

“This is amazing,” Peli said while her first bite was still in her mouth, “Where did you get it?”

“Vendor about two blocks south,” the Armorer told her, “I figured you would be hungry.”

“Just about starving,” Peli said as she picked up her second bite, “Again, thank you.”

“Least I could do,” the Armorer managed a small smile – Peli had never seen her smile before – and Peli smiled back, an awkward thing that had her ducking her head as the Armorer suppressed a chuckle as much as she could.

“So,” Peli wanted so badly to have an actual conversation, “How's laundry been working out for you?”

“If I never see another washing machine after we leave Lothal I would be alright with that,” the Armorer bristled, “How do we even _have_ so many clothes and linens?”

Peli laughed, though, and told the Armorer, “At least they feel nicer that using the sonic to knock all the dirt and sweat off of them.”

What Peli didn't do was mention that the Armorer could have had all the laundry done by now if she didn't disappear for days on end or ask where she'd been going. When the Armorer asked if Peli _was_ going to ask her either of those things, Peli laughed again.

“Your business is your own,” Peli told her, “We've come this far; you're too loyal to Din and Paz to abandon the rest of us.”

_That's not it,_ the Armorer wanted to tell her, _Attachments are dangerous for people like me._

When it had apparently been too long without a reply, Peli changed the subject, “It would be nice if we could figure out how to have fresh foods on the ship, you know? I'm not complaining about the rations but – okay, maybe I'm complaining _a little bit._ ”

The Armorer laughed and Peli smiled and the Armorer realized that if there were more beings in the universe like Peli, the Old Republic may never have fallen in the first place.

“I'm sure we can figure something out,” the Armorer told Peli and Peli smiled again as she took another handful of food.

And in that moment, the Armorer realized that the rest of the world, the rest of the _universe_ , was an abstract concept, something far off, something that did not concern her.

For the first time in decades, the Armorer felt like the moment had room for _her._ Just as Peli had made room for Din when he had been at his lowest without even thinking about what she was doing, Peli had just made room for the Armorer to _be someone_ without her armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These idiots are really earning their slow burn tag.


	59. Interlude: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile on Sorgan, a mother and a warrior settle into what feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a super-short, super-soft check-in with the trio on Sorgan. I didn't forget about them, I promise!

Cara was sitting on the front steps of Omera's house and watching Winta and her friends play while Omera fixed lunch. 

It didn't worry Cara that she hadn't heard from the rest of the crew in a month. It probably should have, but they were all professionals and work took _time._ And besides, Sorgan had just seen the last of the New Republic leave; they didn't need anything more to attract attention to the planet and its people.

And, sure, she missed counting herself as a part of the stars, missed standing beside someone because _they deserved their position,_ missed feeling like her life was a part of something so much bigger than she was alone.

But that last one, at least, she found here, too, as she watched Winta and her friends play with one of the pond frogs as it hopped about.

“They're so much fun to watch,” Omera said as she sat down next to Cara, “Lunch just needs to simmer for a while.”

“I don't really remember ever being that young,” Cara said as she leaned against Omera and put her head on her shoulders, “I know I was, obviously, but it's just like. An idea rather than memories.”

“Me, too,” Omera rested her cheek on Cara's head, “I hope she does, though.”

“Yeah,” Cara sighed, a fond thing, “A generation of children who are allowed to be children instead of look to their elders and ask when they get to fight for freedom too is something the galaxy sorely needs right now.”

“I fear it's needed that for a long time,” Omera took Cara's forearm and wrapped her arms around it so that both of her hands were holding Cara's hand. Cara's other hand joined the tangle of limbs and fingers and squeezed.

“The resilience of children amazes me,” Cara said, “They've all been through so much and yet they still _play._ ”

Omera made a soft noise of agreement and squeezed Cara's hands again.

“I'm glad,” Omera's voice was quiet as she said it, “I was worried for so long that everything she's been through would...change her, steal her innocence, and yet...”

“Din knows how to let children stay, well, children,” Cara noted.

“Which,” Omera could feel herself frown, “given everything, I'm surprised. Thankful, but surprised. He told me, the first time he was here, that he was about their age the last time he took his helmet off in front of anyone else.”

Cara whistled, a long, low sound that managed to hold a note of sadness within it.

“Same sentiment,” Omera managed to pull Cara a little closer to her, “It's almost strange, being back.”

“I can imagine,” Cara nestled into Omera as much as she could, “There's so much that's happened in so little time...”

“And yet, it still feels like home,” Omera finished, “At least, for me, this is home.”

Cara made a sound caught between agreement and pain.

“Home's people, for me,” Cara told her and squeezed her hands, “Home's you.”

“Home's you,” Omera freed one of her hands so she could wrap that arm around Cara's waist and pull her a little closer.

The frog the children had been chasing finally jumped into one of the ponds and several of the children followed it in, screeching and giggling and screaming and laughing, a cacophony of sounds that only a happy bunch of children could produce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be asking, _ChelseaDear, are you really taking us on a feelings check-in for ten-or-so chapters with a bounty hunt in the middle of it?_ To which the answer is yes. Yes I am, and I regret nothing.
> 
> You also may not be asking that at all, in which case the answer is still yes, there was just no question precluding it.


	60. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then the hunters were three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man welcome to the comedy of errors that is three Mandalorians occupying the same space.

Din was _excited_ to be back on the hunt.

If he stepped wrong or crouched down for too long, the place where the hole in his thigh used to be sent ribbons of white-hot warning pain through him, but he could walk, run, and climb just fine and that had been good enough for Paz.

Which, if Din were being completely honest, the fact Paz was able to exert so much control over him bothered him, but every time he'd tried to say something the fact Paz had been right and the feeling of _how much Paz cared_ stole the words.

It was, perhaps, better this way.

He was still glad to be on the hunt.

He genuinely loved the bickering he and Paz invariably got into the closer they got to their target; there was something _refreshing_ about it that he didn't realize his previous hunts had all been lacking.

And so there they were, surrounded by darkness and a sense of finality, about to close in on the bastard they'd been tracking for days.

Bickering.

“Ready?” he asked Paz as he pulled his blaster out.

“No,” Paz hissed.

“Just because you can't shoot up the place doesn't mean you're not ready,” Din snorted, “Cover me.”

“With _what?_ ” Paz asked as Din started moving forward at a crouch.

Paz shook his head and rolled his eyes and in that fraction of a second he missed whatever had just shocked Din into unconsciousness.

“Fuck,” Paz drew his gun despite Din's insistence they couldn't afford to cause a scene.

“Fuck,” Din's assailant echoed, “Oh no no no no no I just shot the King.”

“You just-” Paz lowered his gun but kept his finger near the trigger, “Who are you? Out of the shadows where I can see you.”

“Oh no this is embarrassing,” the assailant said as she stepped out, “I saw someone else closing in on my bounty and didn't look to see who it was.”

From behind the safety of his helmet, Paz narrowed his eyes and blinked a few times.

“Nati?” he finally realized who he was talking to.

“I'm sorry,” she had her hands up but her shock device still in one hand, “I am so, so sorry.”

Not terribly far away, their target finally took notice of the fact he wasn't alone.

“Shit,” Nati hissed and looked between the target and Paz a few times.

“You stay here,” Paz told her, “I'll be right back.”

“But-” she tried to argue.

“Stay,” Paz repeated as he took off after the target.

She listened, pacing behind Din's unconscious body until Paz got back with the target slung over his shoulder.

“Here,” Paz dropped the target onto the floor like one might drop a sack of root vegetables, “Did you check his vitals?”

“No,” Nati dropped down and immediately started doing just that, “I just. Shit. Fuck. Sorry.”

“Why weren't you using your scope?” Paz asked her, “Or _anything else_ that might have avoided this?”

“Scope takes time I didn't have!” Nati tried to defend herself, “You saw how fast he ran!”

“Yeah, and I ran faster,” Paz told her, “Do you shoot all your competition or is this an exception?”

“In theory I stun anyone who's as close as I am to claiming a bounty,” Nati sighed, “In practice this is the first time I've had to do it. His pulse is normal. Breathing's a little slower than it should be, but he is unconscious so that might be why, And, look, I know it's not _the fairest thing,_ but you know how much we need to rebuild.”

“I'm learning there's nothing fair about bounties,” Paz relented his lecture a little bit, “Where's your ship?”

“Ship?” she asked, “Oh, no, I hitched a ride here.”

“Hitched a ride here?” Paz echoed.

“More or less,” she tried to dismiss the question, “What about you two?”

“Not far, but I'm not carrying both of them that far,” Paz said.

“You get Din and I can get the fellow who might be dead,” Nati offered.

“Is dead,” Paz told her, “Alright, that works. Hope you're stronger than you look.” Paz scooped up Din as gently as possible and carried him against his chest.

“Eh,” Nati shrugged. She grabbed the target by the ankle and started dragging him as she followed Paz.

–

Consciousness found Din slowly despite how hard he'd attempted to keep hold on it from its first hint of return.

He was in a ship – his ship – and Paz was there and _so was someone else_ and the engine wasn't on but his helmet still was and everything _hurt._

When he finally sat up, the first thing he heard was a panicked, “I can explain!”

Din tried to whirl around to see the source of the voice but doing so made the world tilt. He grabbed his head and groaned.

“Easy,” Paz told him, “Your favorite word, I know.”

Din huffed a small laugh but Paz was _right there_ and he felt so _safe_ despite everything.

“Nati,” Paz's voice was gentle, “Come here.”

 _Nati??_ Din's mind screamed at him.

“I'm sorry,” Nati appeared in Din's field of vision, “I am so, so sorry.”

She looked terrified. Her helmet was off so Din didn't have to guess how terrified; her eyes were wide and she was trembling.

“Your instincts are good,” Din told her, “Execution a little questionable, but your instincts are good.”

She look caught between disbelief and relief and Din added, “I'm impressed,” and Nati started _sobbing._

“I'm sorry,” she said again, “I'm sorry.”

“Come here,” Din extended an arm out to her. She shifted to take the arm and Din brought her in for a hug. He forgot his helmet was still on and tried to shoot Paz A Look, but it must have worked because Paz hugged Nati, too.

“The covert's lucky to have someone who acts as fast as you do,” Din told her, “You did good, kid.”

They stayed like that while Nati pulled herself together.

“Sorry,” she said again at she wiped the last of her tears away with the back of her hand, “I don't normally do this, I swear.”

“Maybe not,” Paz pulled back and stood up to let Nati and Din get up as well, “but it's safe here.”

There were so many layers to that statement and Nati seemed to know it.

Nati rose slowly and then Paz helped Din to his feet.

“What'd you hit me with?” Din asked, “And where's the target?”

“Target's dead,” Paz answered his second question, “Got him in one of the empty tool chests.”

“Oh! It's, uh,” Nati paused and then fumbled to pull out the thing in question, “I made it myself. It takes out droids entirely but only knocks organics out for a little while. At least, that's what it's supposed to do. I haven't had any test subjects.”

“Well,” Din eyed the thing, “I am glad it did what you meant for it to do with this particular organic.”

“I was trying not to think about that,” Nati grimaced.

“Where'd you get that?” Paz asked.

“Oh!” Nati's face lit up, “I made it!”

“You...” Paz looked at it closer.

“Well that explains how you, Peli, and Cara were able to build a jammer held together with fern sap,” Din shook his head a little, “You're a Foundling, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nati clipped the device back to her armor, “Seems like almost everyone my age and younger is.”

“I hear it used to be different,” Din told her, “Houses, clans, family lines...they were important to the point of being just shy of sacred. Then we apparently shook ourselves apart by placing ideas and ideals over taking care of each other. Were it that simple, I know,” he paused, “But yeah. It seems like every step-down in terms of age bracket within the covert has a higher amount of Foundlings than the last.”

“Lot of kids war leaves behind,” Nati looked away, “Lot of kids who want to learn to fight like it'll change their fate.”

“Hmn,” Din squeezed Paz's hand and then let go before he walked over to their tiny kitchen, “Tea?”

“Oh, please, yes,” Nati took a step forward, “Can I help?”

“Fill this two-thirds of the way with water from the block with the little spigot on it,” Din handed her an empty pot. She took it and started scanning when Din referred to internally as _the wall of crates_ for the one in question.

Paz made a small noise and Din said, “I know _you_ want tea.”

“I always want tea,” Paz said out loud and Din chuckled.

“So,” Din said as Nati handed the pot back to him – she'd filled it so close to exactly two-thirds of the way full that he was impressed, “how'd you get all the way out here?”

“Hitched a ride,” Nati shrugged, “This one was posted, and it looked pretty high-value.”

“So not just through the Guild, then,” Din said more to himself than Paz and Nati as he turned the single burner on.

“But big enough I'd hoped it could get me _into_ the Guild,” Nati told him, “The openly posted bounties are keeping us from starving and the building from quitting on us, but...”

“But the Guild almost always has better,” Din finished the thought for her, “I remember trying to get into the Guild, when I was first a beroya.”

“Is it always this long of a process?” Nati asked, “Because I feel like this is taking me a long time.”

“Well,” Din looked at her, “there _is_ a shortcut.”

Nati's face lit up and Paz let out a soft _Oh no,_ and Din grinned.

This was going to be so much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed writing Nati so much.
> 
> Can you believe that just a week or so ago I thought 60 chapters would cover the entire story I wanted to tell? I'm glad I was wrong.


	61. The Marshal and the Mechanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobb and Peli both spent most of their lives wanting to rise further above their station without making it everyone else's burden; now that they're both doing that, the feelings that have come along for the ride are a lot messier than either of them had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two found siblings so much.
> 
> Holy shit y'all UtSS has broken 10K views. I am in so much awe that so many of you are enjoying this story. To all of you reading, tank you. You make my day. <3

It was easy to disappear, Cobb knew, easy to blend into the shadows and crowds, easier still if you were being obvious about being there, People trying to sneak, if they weren't trained properly, were easy to spot. They carried this _anxiety_ around them that might as well have been a signal flare.

 _Here I am_ it screamed, _Look at me, here I am!_

Apparently Nati – and Cobb was _sure_ she was young enough to be his daughter if he'd had kids – was a master at blending in while sneaking.

Din and Paz had called him a few hours ago and Nati was with them. They told him all about how they reached the target they were chasing at the same time, about how she shocked Din into unconsciousness before she realized who he was.

Cobb had asked how she didn't recognize him and Din reminded him that both he and Paz looked _completely different_ with the alloy layer.

“Lot of people stealing armor,” Nati had added, “I can't afford to make assumptions in favor of hope.”

“What do you mean?” Cob had asked her.

“As much as I wanted to believe there were two Mandalorians in the same room as me,” Nati had tried to explain, “if they _weren't_...I don't even what to think too hard about what might have happened.”

She also explained that, like the jet packs but also not at all like the jet packs, their helmets took a _lot_ of getting used to and she just didn't have enough practice with here to use it when she's close to her target.

Cobb didn't understand, but he wasn't sure he could. The armor he'd had didn't take much at all to adjust to. He didn't say as much aloud, but he must have pulled a face because Nati rolled her eyes and told him, “You're a leader and you love your people. Of course you'd be able to hit the ground running when the fall had every right to kill you.”

The alliteration sent chills through Cobb.

He'd wished them all the best right before the call ended and it struck him moments later how Din and Paz were not only acting like Nati's mentor, but her _parents._ It wasn't their words so much as how they carried themselves; he'd see it before, in others who were proud of who and what their children had grown into. 

It both warmed and broke Cobb's heart.

And so, he found himself on top of the ship, laying on his back, staring at an empty sky. There was far too much light here for the stars to pierce it so they could show themselves.

It wasn't _difficult_ to get to the top of the ship, but it wasn't easy either. He'd told himself he'd stay here and let his mind try to purge itself until he nodded off, then he'd head back in to sleep in his too-empty bed.

Peli joined him with a, “You're a hard man to find, Vanth.”

“Well, you found me,” Cobb managed a small smile as he said it, “Come to stare at the void?”

“Nah,” she said despite her footsteps sounding closer with each one, “Come here often?” she asked and they both laughed, a free thing.

Peli laid down, too, the top of her head to the top of his head.

“It kind of freaks me out that there's so much _pollution <_ here,” she told him.

“Seems the Empire damn near ruined the planet,” the words were a bitterant on Cobb's tongue, “They're trying to heal, though.”

“Aren't we all?” Peli said with a small huff.

Cobb hummed, a single note cut short by the business in his head.

“What brings you up here?” Peli asked. Cobb told her about the call and Peli had laughed and told him, “Sounds like the kid's doing great.”

Cob had laughed at . All the sudden the thought of Nati – the barely-not-a-child he'd met in passing – taking down the man whose role she'd taken over was funny but also _fitting._

“I miss them,” Cobb told her, “Both of them.”

“I'd imagine so,” Peli managed to sound both sympathetic and like her first response was almost _No shit you miss them._

“It's amazing,” Cobb told her, “They both just. Slid into my life like they were missing pieces.”

“You three are strong together,” Peli agreed, “Adept where the other two are not in all the right ways but also _just chaotic enough_ that you're not going to fall into a routine that gives way to complacency.”

“Sounds like you're familiar with that,” Cobb hadn't meant to sound like he was a few steps away from demanding she talk about her past.

Peli sighed, a heavy thing, and told him, “I was young and desperate to find a place I belonged outside my garage. _With someone else_ seemed like a logical place to be.

“She was _fantastic,_ Cobb. She was funny and smart and curious and it felt like we could take on every world that got in the way of what we wanted” she sighed, “But, in the end, I was a mechanic and she was an adventurer. She never could have stayed with someone who wanted to spend their life in a garage.”

“I'm sorry,” Cobb wasn't sure what he was sorry for, but it felt like the right thing to say.

“Thanks,” Peli managed, “It was nice, in a way. Young love that opened the world way wider than I'd've opened myself up to experience. Even if she's long gone to wherever she wound up, my years with her...gave me so much more room to shape the way I saw my life.”

Cobb made a huffing sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest and rumbled as he made it. 

“What, you never had..?” Pele asked.

“You know how I wear my scarf with everything?” Cobb asked. Peli gave a soft _uh-huh_ and Cobb continued, “I was a slave, Peli. Born into it, expected to die a slave.”

“And yet, you're here,” Peli said.

“I cut out my chip,” Cobb said it like it was a confession, “It was messy and damn near killed me, but I was free so I ran and ran and ran until I found Mos Pelgo.”

“Holy shit,” Peli breathed.

“Mos Pelgo shaped me, made me into a person rather than an tool that just so happened to be sentient,” Cobb felt like if he stopped talking for too long he'd never talk about it again, “I owed Mos Pelgo everything.”

There was another set of footsteps on the roof of the ship all of the sudden, accompanied by soft _swish_ of leather-on-leather.

“That's why you came back, isn't it?” Peli asked

“After I ran away?” Cobb said with a single-syllable self-depreciating laugh, “Yeah. Turns out if I don't think I have a fighting chance against something, my instinct is to run.”

“Scooch,” Peli told him, then, louder said, “Come, lie with us, we're communing with the void.”

“You're what?” the Armorer asked.

“Well it's too polluted to see the stars,” Peli said as she shifted so the Armorer could lie the same way they were without crowding each other's shoulders, “So, void it is.”

The Armorer did lie down with them, all three of their heads touching at the tops, almost like a triangle that had a whole person growing out of each side.

“So,” Peli said once the three of them were settled, “You came back.”

“Because I _could_ fight,” Cobb told her, “I knew that Mos Pelgo had been scrubbed from the maps. Even before we were decimated, we were a small mining town that looked the other way for a number of sins. Tatooine's least favorite city.”

Peli made a sound that was almost a laugh. “That's really saying something,” she told him.

“Whole damned planet depends on the overall health of the underworld networks,” Cobb huffed.

“And yet you pulled a city from the proverbial ashes on your own,” Peli reached back to try to slap Cobb on the forehead gently. She clipped the Armorer with her nails instead and mixed a number of apologies and curses together before she tried again and managed to swat Cobb, “You don't give yourself enough credit.”

“ _ **I**_ don't give myself enough credit?” Cobb was incredulous, “Look who's talking.”

“What credit?” Peli asked.

“Peli,” Cobb said as he rolled in place to lie on his stomach and prop himself up on his elbows, “Seriously? At every possible juncture you've been the paragon of grit and fortitude. You're always _there_ at the right time with the right words, the right actions.”

“Stop it,” Peli told him.

“We'd've shaken apart by now without you, Peli,” Cobb did not stop.

“No you wouldn't have,” Peli tried to dismiss the praise.

“Oh Peli,” Cobb's heart sank, “You really believe that, don't you?”

Peli said nothing but her breathing changed and Cobb knew that was the way someone breathed when they were about to cry but were fighting with everything they had to _not do that._

Cobb started to get up so he could move and hug Peli, but the Armorer rolled over and put an arm over Peli's chest and looked at Cobb with a look that said _Let me._

And so Cobb did.

Peli grabbed the Armorer's forearm with both her hands, clutching it, taking deep, measured breaths.

“I'm glad you're here,” Cobb told her, “Thank you for being.”

“Thanks for keeping me,” Peli told him.

“It's weird,” Cobb said as he laid back down to stare at Peli's void, “I never expected to...to matter, really. Never quite got used to being the Marshall.”

“I'd long given up being more than a mechanic,” Peli echoed the sentiment with her own words, “All this still feels unreal sometimes.”

“Tell me about it,” Cobb laughed because the other option was crying and he just didn't have the energy for that, “I'd wanted nothing more than to rise so far above the station birth determined for me that even if I fell I'd still land higher that _that._ Now that I'm managed that sometimes it feels like if I look at it too long or too hard, it'll just. Disappear.”

“Din picked good with you two,” the Armorer told them, “I'm glad.”

That was, Cobb thought, the highest praise the Armorer had given to _anyone._

“Din has no idea the power and righteousness he commands just by existing,” Peli noted, “I'm glad he'd got so many of us to look after him.”

“He deserves it,” Cobb's eyelids were starting to feel heavy so he let them close, “After everything, he deserves a whole _team_ to hold him up.”

“He'll get back on his feet one day,” Peli sounded sure of it, “Mentally, I mean.”

Out of Cobb's line of his sight – mostly behind and beside his head – Peli and the Armorer were shuffling around. He was curious, but it also felt like if he moved to look and see what was going on, he'd wind up with an elbow to the nose or something.

“Comfy back there?” Cobb asked when the shuffling stopped.

“More or less,” Peli told him, “It _is_ a ship roof.”

“Hadn't noticed,” Cobb teased. Peli snorted and swatted him and Cobb laughed again.

“But yeah,” Peli brought the conversation back to Din, “Healing's going to take time and his scars run deep.”

“I'm glad he's resilient,” Cobb said, “I know he keeps trying to run from being the one with the darksaber, but...”

“From everything I've seen,” the Armorer's words were measured, “Din will be one of the greatest Mand'alor our people has ever seen.”

“I think the running is what makes him great,” Peli added, “He does the right thing not because he's chasing glory or anything like it. He does it because _it's the right thing_ and in the end, that'll always win out for him, no matter what he has to sacrifice.”

“If only he knew that,” the Armorer's voice was distant.

“When they get back,” Cobb decided, “I'm going to _make sure_ he knows that.”

“Subtle,” the Armorer was...teasing him?

“Oi,” Peli's exclamation was accompanied by the sound of skin being flicked, “Be nice!”

“You'd know if I was being mean,” the Armorer told the both of them. There was a lightness in her voice though, that was throwing Cobb for a loop.

This jovial version of the Armorer was going to take some getting used to, if he ever saw it again.

Cobb realized the Armorer should, despite his personal mixed feelings about her, be told Din and Paz were with Nati.

He told the entire story and all the Armorer said was, “Nobody sneaks up on Din.”

“There are exceptions to every rule,” Cobb grumbled, “but I don't like the fact it happened at all. He's damned lucky it was someone friendly.”

“I may have lost sight of how badly exhausted he still is,” the Armorer said, “He...we were wrong to pull him from Tatooine so quickly. _I_ was wrong to pull him from Tatooine so quickly.”

“Well, yeah,” Cobb didn't realize how much anger he still felt over that, “When he and Paz get back, I'm dragging the both of them somewhere quiet for a while.”

“I'm sure you'll literally drag them if they resist,” Peli remarked and Cobb felt a fondness for Peli's assessment.

He would, he realized, their stubbornness be damned.

They laid on the roof for a while, the three of them, until Cobb realized he was starting to doze off.

“I need to get to a bed before I'm here all night,” Cobb said with a yawn.

“Don't fall off the ship,” Peli teased.

“No promises,” Cobb hoped he was teasing as well. And he hauled himself to his feet.

Just before he started his climb down, he was sure he heard some muffled whispers. When he looked over his shoulder, Peli and the Armorer were both still laying down – Peli on her back and the Armorer on her stomach – with their foreheads resting on each other's.

 _Subtle indeed,_ Cobb thought to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Peli and the Armorer making out on top of _The Subtle_ isn't a chapter that's in my outline but MAN am I tempted to add it in.
> 
> In unrelated news: My label maker arrived at a reasonable hour and let me tell you _**chaos**_ has erupted in this household


	62. Interlude: Something Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> xpaperheartso told me to give into the temptation to let the Armorer and Peli make out atop _The Subtle_ , and that was really all the encouragement I needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I'm easily influenced.

Cobb's footfalls had given way to a likely-louder-than-he-meant-to-be _oomph_ where it sounded like he'd misjudged the distance between where he was on the ladder and the ground.

“Should we..?” Peli looked in the general direction of the sound.

“Give him a moment, see if he needs help,” the Armorer was looking in the same direction.

They waited a few beats and sure enough they heard footfalls on the ship's ramp.

“Sounds like he's still able to walk,” the Armorer decided.

“Remind me to never have a medical emergency around you lot,” Peli teased.

“If you absolutely have to have an emergency,” the Armorer settled back down, “do try to do it in front of _someone._ ”

“Schedule emergencies to happen with company nearby, got it,” Peli managed a smile. The Armorer made a sound caught between a laugh and _growing concern._

Peli was still on her back, still staring out at the void that, despite its blankness, seemed to be doing its best to stare back. The Armorer had shifted onto her side after she'd given Peli her arm to use an an anchor through her most turbulent thoughts, keeping her arm there and keeping her shoulder at an angle much more gentle.

Perhaps it was not the void above looking back that Peli felt, but the Armorer to her left looking into her.

“Peli,” the Armorer's voice was _gentle_ in ways Peli didn't know it could be, “are you alright?”

“Uh,” Peli almost said yes reflexively, but what good would come of welcoming lies into whatever space they were holding for themselves, “I don't know.”

The Armorer made that noise – the one Peli had only heard a handful of times but knew it meant the Armorer was _thinking_ in ways that precluded action. Peli didn't have the energy for action, not tonight, so she squeezed the Armorer's arm and hoped the gesture read as _Do not make me give life to all the feelings I've managed to slay._

The Armorer sighed and touched her forehead to Peli's and they stayed like that, the world fading away with each measured breath until it was just her and the Armorer, until there was enough space around them for Peli to _breathe_ again.

“It's hard,” Peli told her, “keeping up with everything. Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning,” she paused, “Which, what an ironic thing for someone whose life has been rooted in nothing but sand.”

The Armorer sighed and Peli flinched but did not recoil.

“Cobb was right,” the Armorer told her, “we _would_ have fallen apart by now without you.”

“How?” was the only word Peli's mind supplied.

“You're always _there,_ ” the Armorer tried to explain, “You manage to be in the right place at the right time, always manage to _be_ a support when support is lacking. Always on your feet and ready to do what needs to be done and you do it selflessly.”

“That's just what I do,” Peli lowered her head, breaking the contact at their foreheads, “It's not special or anything. It's just...me.”

The Armorer pulled Peli a little closer and Peli rolled on her side so she could her head on the Armorer's shoulder. The Armorer stroked Peli's hair and Peli's entire body _relaxed_ for the first time in, well, she couldn't remember the last time there wasn't at least tension in her neck and shoulders.

“Sit up,” the Armorer told her, “and face me. Cross-legged, preferably.”

Peli did as she was told, albeit slowly. The Armorer sat up as well, on her knees, and reached over Peli to massage her shoulders.

“Oh,” Peli let her eyes closed, “I...”

“Good?” the Armorer asked.

“Mmhmm,” Peli hummed, “Thank you.”

They stayed like that for a while, the Armorer digging out the deepest tension Peli's body kept hidden, rooted to her bones and soul while Peli let her touch sink in, tried to let the feeling of being _cared for_ seep in and find a new home in the lining of her skin.

When the Armorer moved on to massaging her neck, Peli opened her eyes and looked at the Armorer and told her, “I meant it. Mean it,” she took a steadying breath, “Really. I mean it.”

The Armorer said nothing for a while, her hands stayed but they remained on either side of the point where Peli's neck and shoulders met. Peli was, well, she was staring at the Armorer. 

“I,” the Armorer sighed, “I didn't know.”

There was a lot unsaid and Peli tried not to fill in too many blanks in the Armorer's story with her own lingering hurts that had woven their way into the very fabric of her being.

“I just,” Peli struggled to catch the words she needed, “I froze up, I fucked up, I...”

The Armorer sighed again and cupped Peli's chin with the spot her thumb and forefinger met and leaned forward just far enough to brush her lips against Peli's. Peli gasped and leaned forward and noticed how _soft_ the Armorer's lips were. She wrapped her arms loosely around the Armorer's waist, testing, and when the Armorer did not move away or try to shake her, Peli _hugged_ her, pulled her in close and the Armorer let herself fall forward, fall into Peli..

“You're not even going to ask?” the Armorer said, her lips still on Peli's, her words just so slightly muffled.

“No,” Peli told her, “And not because I don't _care._ Your story is yours to tell, not mine to rent from you.”

There was a moment where the Armorer almost said _thank you,_ but this was not a moment for words. 

It was lips then _pressure_ then _force_ and then tongues and wandering hands and Peli couldn't remember when or how she'd shed her shirt but the Armorer's hands were all over her skin and she was _pulling_ at the Armorer's clothes and the Armorer did more than just _let her pull._

The Armored pulled her shirt over her head and cast it aside and Peli's hands were on _her_ skin, tracing every scar and mapping every inch she could reach. The Armorer leaned forward and Peli leaned back and the Armorer was _on top of her_ , her full weight against Peli, her thigh between Peli's thighs, her mouth _still_ on Peli's and Peli held her close and kissed her and willed her body to memorize the _warmth_ she radiated.

“I,” the Armorer hesitated, “I...”

Peli stilled and waited and the Armorer told her, “I don't want to go any farther.”

“Then we won't go any farther,” Peli promised her, “Is where we are still okay?”

“Yeah,” the Armorer breathed, “Yeah, very. Very okay.”

“Is it alright if my hands keep wandering?” Peli asked.

“Above my waist,” the Armorer told her.

“Above the waist,” Peli repeated, “Absolutely.” It felt like a promise, like the _absolute_ of it permeated everything about whatever was forming between them, like Peli would _absolutely_ yield the Armorer, would _absolutely_ put the Armorer's needs over her wants, like she understood that the Armorer's needs had long been lost in the fires of her past and Peli held the spark that may yet be able to give the Armorer back her life.

They kissed again, slowly this time, the Armorer's soft lips and Peli's chapped lips sending little rippled of _contentedness_ through them.

“Holy shit,” Peli breathed when the kiss broke off.

“In a good way?” the Armorer asked and the absurdity of the question hit her and she laughed and _Peli laughed_ and one of Peli's hands found its way into the Armorer's hair and the Armorer leaned into the touch and closed her eyes and made a contented sound she did not know she was still capable of making and Peli laughed again, breathless and needy this time and Peli kissed the Armorer, the both of them so wrapped up in each other that the void was all there was, the world fallen away from them; the universe did not have the audacity to try to take this moment away from Peli.

The Armorer hummed, a contented thing, and buried her face in Peli's chest and Peli held her even tighter as the Armorer managed to get her arms under Peli, wrapped them under her and up so she was bracing Peli's shoulder blades and her hands came up to wrap over Peli's shoulders. She settled against Peli while Peli stroked _her_ hair and she let herself _just be._

The rest of their lives were waiting for them, just out of reach, and eventually they would need to take hold of those unstable, surreal, formless things that their lives were, but here?

Here was something they knew was real, and the rest of their lives could not rip that from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was much softer than I expected and I love them so much


	63. Changing of the Guard Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nati wants into the Guild. Din wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that my initial notes for this chapter read as follows:
> 
> _Work: Guild part 2, Mandalorian Boogaloo: THREE Mandalorians enter the guild and the entire bar shits itself_

Nati was so excited about the idea of _walking into **the** Guild_ that Paz could only describe her affect as _giddy._

In front of them, Din seemed _amused._ It was a subtle thing, conveyed mostly through how he held his neck and shoulders, something you'd miss if you hadn't known him for most of his life. 

The rest of the Guild, however, looked absolutely terrified.

He had not considered any of them would recognize him the first time he'd come here; he'd been too distracted, the memories of what that damned market held too close to the surface; he hadn't had the mental space to look around and see how many of them, too, now considered the area to be little more than a memory of a horror show.

The second time he'd shown up, he'd been too furious at how little care the one he now knew was called _Greef_ reserved for the lives of those he employed. Even if all moral and communal implications were shoved aside, it was a terrible financial decision. Greef relied on the bounty hunters he employed for his own income.

But now? Now he'd gotten used to it, the need to cut himself off from damned near every part of his mind from the time they neared the market until well after they'd left again. Hell, he'd even learned how to _be a part of everything_ without actually getting involved.

And so, he was able to watch a few dozen bounty hunters collectively shit themselves.

It was already in his top five favorite memories he could tell strangers about.

Din sat down across from Greef and leaned forward whole Paz and Nati stood behind him, flanking either of Din's shoulders. Greef took a few faster-than-usual blinks to re-orientate himself.

“Mando!” Greef said once he was mostly recovered, “To what do I owe the pleasure three times over?”

“We're here for work,” Din told him.

“As opposed to pleasure,” Nati said under her breath and Paz kicked her ankle, a reflexive thing. Paz knew exactly what face he was making – the disappointed-yet-endeared one – and was suddenly glad they'd decided to keep all appearances of _Mandalorians never remove their helmets_ because right now none of them were quite living up the the universal template _being a Mandalorian_ that had been cast for them.

“Well,” Greef cleared his throat, “I'm not sure I have anything that requires the skills of _three_ Mandalorians.”

“We don't-” Din started saying.

“Mando, I don't think anyone, any _where_ , has work for a team of three Mandalorians,” Greef interrupted. 

“Just work for one, then,” Din said.

Greef looked at Paz, then at Nati, then at Paz again before his gaze settled on Din once more. 

“And to who, exactly, would this work be assigned to?” Greef asked, his gaze shifting back to Nati.

There was something in his weighted stare that made Paz want to scoop Greef's eyeballs out with a half-rusted spoon.

“My,” Din paused, “ _my ad_.”

“I see,” Greef leaned forward, “And how skilled, exactly, would you say your... _ad_ is?”

“It won't be long at all until she surpasses me,” Din said.

Beside him, Paz could tell Nati wasn't expecting that, wasn't expecting Din to either of those things and might start to shake apart if they didn't get moving soon. Paz grabbed Nati's hand and squeezed, hoping she found it reassuring despite their gloves.

“Very well then,” Greef's voice was neutral but everything else about him signaled _fear._ He produced a little fob from somewhere Paz couldn't see – a pocket or a sachet or maybe he was just straight up _sitting on them._

Din made a sound that was somehow a both recognition and warning before he turned his head around as far as he could and said, “Take it.”

“Now Mando,” Greef put his hand over the fob, “I'm trusting your assessment of your ad, but you know she isn't in the Guild, right?”

“She will be,” Din put his forearms on the table and leaned forward a little more and Greef retracted his hand.

Nati leaned forward to grab the fob and held it as tight as her gloves would allow.

–

As soon as they were back on the ship, Nati took a flying leap to hug Din. She hit her mark at full force and knocked Din backward. He took a few stumbling steps back before Paz jumped in to steady them both.

“Did you mean it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Din told her, then told her again, softer, “Elek.”

“I,” she tried not to start crying, “Wow, sorry, here you are helping me jump _years_ of work and _hoping_ and I'm,” she sniffed, “This doesn't seem like a very beroya thing to do right now, on my part.”

“There's no one way to be a beroya,” Din told her, “and you're doing fantastic.”

Din touched his forehead to hers and took a deep breath.

“Thanks,” Nati meant it.

–

Nati was asleep in the hammock, periodically snoring so softly Din would have missed it entirely if he hadn't spent decades being so vigilant it nearly completely eroded his ability to relax.

While Nati had slipped off to use the evac tube earlier that day, Din and Paz had decided she could take the hammock and they'd sleep on the floor. There hadn't been much logic or even discussion behind it; Nati got the hammock.

Nati had asked about twenty times since if they were sure, but ultimately, when she was finally tired, she crawled into the hammock and fell asleep so quickly that Din didn't have a change to ask if she needed any blankets.

Not terribly long after, he and Paz had both flopped down on the ground more than laid themselves down to try to sleep. Paz was on his back, but Din found himself on his stomach, the side of his face squished against the floor, too _exhausted_ to bother flipping over.

Turns out getting shocked into unconsciousness took a lot out of a man.

“Ad,” Paz said quietly.

“I couldn't find another word that fit,” Din stayed equally quietly, “Couldn't find any other word that felt right.”

“How many languages do you speak again, Din?” Paz asked. Din chuckled and quickly covered his mouth to muffle the sound. “I thought so,” Paz was smiling despite the seriousness of his tone. 

“No other word,” Din repeated.

“Well,” Paz rolled onto his side so he was facing Din, “at least we all know you make a fantastic buir.”

Din made a little huffing sound and Paz put a lazy arm over Din's back.

“You do,” Paz told him again, an urgency in his voice that hadn't been there the first time.

“We're co-parenting this one,” Din told him.

“Isn't co-parenting for when one or more parent doesn't live with the other?” Paz scooched closer to Din. 

“I don't actually know,” Din admitted, “Never thought I'd have to _give it any thought._ ”

Paz made a sympathetic noise and kissed the top of Din's head.

“I did just drop that on the both of you,” Din said. Paz pulled Din in even closer and shifted so he was tilted forward to cover most of Din's back.

“It fits,” Paz murmured, “It fits.”

–

Din had been drilling about how she handled being the new beroya, where she picked up her targets, and countless other things both so grand that they were universal and nuanced Paz was fairly sure that Din was managing several sentences that had never been said in the history of life itself.

Thankfully, at least for now, they were closer to the grand things.

“Okay,” Din took a deep breath, “yell me your most important rules you follow when you're tracking or engaging a target.”

“Never ask ques-” Nati started saying.

“Not Guild rules,” Din interrupted, “ _Your_ rules, Nati.”

“Oh,” Nati huffed and sat back in the hammock, “Uhm. Put my survival first. Don't even agree to take targets younger than I am. Stay as far away from bystanders as possible. Uhh. Uhm. Oh!” her face lit up, “Minimize the talking. The more talking happens the lower the chances of actually getting the target.”

Din hummed, impressed. “Good,” he told her.

“Having my own rules that are most strict than the Guild doesn't compromise my position as beroya, does it?”

“No,” Din told her, “By hunting, you provide for the covert. By looking after yourself first, you ensure you can provide for much longer than if you cast yourself aside for the sake of the hunt.”

“What's the difference?” Nati asked, “Between that serving the covert before myself?”

“One is rooted in fear,” Din explained, “and the other in duty. Our covert _survives_ because, when push comes to shove, we're there for each other. With each other.

“We know how to push every base instinct screaming at us to do things that would only cause harm is either suppressed or redirected into something productive. When the covert needs us, we're no longer Nati and Paz and Din. We are Mandalorians, and Mandalorians _survive._

“Your role in that is much bigger, much heavier. As beroya, the only member of the covert who sheds her identity and becomes a part of whatever proverbial machine has kept us running is our Armorer.

“And it's easy to lose sight of yourself, to forget not only who you are but _why_ you are. If you lose yourself entirely there will be nothing to ground you should everything possible go wrong and try to strip you of your purpose. Your rules are what make you _Nati, the covert's beroya_ instead of _a beroya._

“The other, though. When you're hunting and something reaches up from places you don't know and can't understand and sizes you with a fear that feels like courage, you get sloppy. And, in far less time than you expect, it gets you killed. 

“Or worse, someone gets ahead of you and uses who and what you are as leverage to destroy you. Takes you identity, your faith, your _value._

“So that's why being more than a hunter whose stakes cannot go much higher despite the odds going against you at every turn is the only way you're going to survive.” 

Nati nodded but it seemed like the speech Din had delivered without warning was going to take some times to sink in. 

Paz knew it was going to take a while for that to sink in for him, too, and he wasn't even a beroya. 

_–_

The ship had barely gotten its ramp down when Nati bounded down and turned around to wait for Din and Paz. 

They'd watch her, they said, but save for doing their best to not let anything kill her, she was on her own. 

She trusted them, her buirs, and she trusted _herself_ to get this done right. 

Din nodded and she took off. 

Nati's hunt was on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man Nati's on her way to do great things look at her go!
> 
> Guess who broke xyr ankle last night!
> 
> It's me. I broke my ankle.
> 
> Story updates might be a touch slower for a bit.
> 
> ~~Also, I _ **just**_ noticed that I called Mayfeld 'Mayfield' for three chapters straight, so that's fixed now.~~


	64. Changing of the Guard Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt is on, and Nati has never wanted to succeed at something so much in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This deserves an entire chapter to itself. Enjoy!

It hadn't taken long at all for Nati to slip out of sight; if Din hadn't been a hunter for so long, he might have lost her completely.

“Where...” Paz started to ask, but Din shushed him.

Din jerked his head to the side just slightly and took a sharp turn. Paz turned with him, just barely managing to pivot fast enough that Din didn't have to walk around him to finish his turn.

He tapped Paz on the helmet and Paz muttered, “Right...”

It was easy to forget how Paz – how most of his covert his age and younger, really – hadn't needed a lot of practice making their HUD display work for them rather than just kind of existing, always on the edges of their field of vision.

The HUD was even worse than the jet packs; the jet packs and their owners at least learned to compensate for things like wind and and, to a lesser degree, recoil. But the displays?

With the displays if you so much as blinked wrong while you were trying to get it to do what you wanted, at best you had to start over.

Din's personal worst had been when he was still a teenager. He hadn't been beroya then, hadn't even been close, but he wanted to enhance a conversation happening some thirty paces away in a bar where, had he not had his helmet, he couldn't have even heard the person next to him. What he got was his helmet light turned on and an infrared scan of the place.

Had he done that on a hunt it would have been irredeemable.

He'd practiced for _weeks_ after that, seeing how much he could move his eyes while changing the HUD before it did what he _wasn't_ actually looking for, learning how he could backtrack a step of two instead of starting over, trying to find what _other things_ the HUD could do for him that he hadn't discovered yet.

He wondered, often, if Mandalorians used to be taught how to use the damned thing.

It had made sense to him when Nati said she hadn't gotten practice with her helmet yet; she was, by Din's estimate, twenty at the oldest. He knew she was a Foundling, but he'd been gone so often that he hadn't actually _met_ any of the youngest Foundlings so he wasn't sure when she'd been brought into the covert.

He followed Nati's footprints until they just...ran out.

Din stopped in his tracks and Paz took a few steps to notice before he stopped, too.

“Same question,” Paz muttered under his breath.

Din looked up and could barely – _just barely_ – see where Nati's feet and gloves had come into contact with the branches. There was no Nati in sight, though.

“Why?” Paz asked, “Just. Why.”

“Well, either the fob lead her into the trees and then _up_ this particular tree,” Din said as he scanned the area, “or she's making sure anyone following her loses her trail.”

“Smart,” Paz praised, “You know I'm not going up there, right?”

“Wasn't going to ask you to,” Din assured him, “Come on.”

Din followed the tiny flecks of red on the edges of tree branches as Paz followed a few steps behind.

–

She was close.

At least, that's what her fob was telling her.

The day had long since ended and the night had settled in comfortably. She'd spent far more time than she'd anticipated in the treetops; she knew Din and Paz – _knew her buirs_ – were still following her and while she very strongly suspected they were still following her, she'd lost track of them after she'd passed them while she was double-backing in an attempt to shake them.

Losing track of _them_ had been an accident and while she was sure they were – or at least Din would – bring that up after the hunt was over, but to be fair she'd never been on the receiving end of this before.

Attempted murder? Yeah, sure, she'd been on the receiving end of that. So had everyone she'd known from _before._

Granted, _successful slaughter_ was the more correct term.

She shook her head and reminded herself that now was not the time to remember these things. Thinking of them was even worse.

_Focus,_ she told herself, _Just you and the target._

This one was wanted dead. It made the work a little easier, not having to make that decision. But still, if he wasn't wanted alive it generally meant he was more dangerous than the ones wanted dead or alive and definitely more dangerous than the ones wanted alive.

This one knew there was a bounty out for him; nobody wandered so far that they may as well be attempting to locate the exact center of the middle of nowhere if they weren't trying to outrun something.

And that was just it, Nati noticed not terribly long into her time as beroya: the really dangerous ones? The ones whose crimes justified ending their life without trial and without ceremony never hid.

They _ran._

They ran and she ran faster. That was how this worked.

That was how this would always work.

–

“Is it usually like this?” Paz asked as he and Din scaled a sheer cliff face.

“Well,” Din grunted as he tried to find a spot to grip the rocks, “No, actually.”

“So the one time we can't use our jet packs,” Paz's hand slipped but he caught himself almost immediately, “we find a cliff.”

“I mean,” Din paused to try to gauge the best place to put his feet, “it's not _my_ first time I've done this.”

Paz snorted and Din rolled his eyes.

“Phrasing,” Din deadpanned.

The rest of the climb happened in silence, the hold spaces getting smaller and smaller as they neared the top.

“That,” Paz said once he had both feet on solid ground again, “was awful.”

“Eh,” Din shrugged.

Paz made a frustrated noise and started walking. Din watched him walk for nearly a full minute before Din cleared his throat. Once Paz turned around, he started walking in the direction Nati's tracks were leading. 

Paz introduced him to some choice new swear word combinations as he jogged to catch up.

–

The sun had started coming up and while Nati had no idea how long days and nights were on this world, the effect of having _hunted through the night_ was trying to wear at her resolve and focus.

She was having none of that.

Whoever was on the other end of this not only knew they were being hunted, they knew their time was going to be up so very soon.

_Of course,_ Nati cursed whatever forces had the final say in which events unfolded and which ones never had a chance, _the one time I've got a shot at getting in the Guild without having to jump through all their damned hoops, and the bastard's a fucking endurance runner or something._

She wasn't going to give up. She wasn't even going to falter or flag or lose sight of the guy's trail.

She took a deep breath and redoubled her focus and walked a little faster.

–

Din had done his best to forget what it was like to stay up for days. Hell, any time in between one 'up for days' and the next he tried to forget the feeling, tried to forget how much every part of his body save for his conscious mind railed against it, tried to make that _forgetting_ his single respite in this world of blood and death and being feared by damn near everyone who saw him that he'd created for himself little by little, action by action, choice by choice, moment by moment until _this_ was the only world he could have possibly existed in.

“Hey!” Paz called from a few paces behind Din, “I can hear you getting all brooding up there.”

“I'm not brooding!” Din tried to defend himself but then he said, “Was I talking out loud?”

Paz snorted, “Nope. I just know you.” He picked up a rock and hit Din on the back of the helmet with it. When Din made a frustrated sound, Paz laughed.

“Shhh!” Din swatted in his general direction, “Are you trying to get then entire forest to notice us?”

“If we ever go on a date,” Paz ignored the question, “I mean, a proper date, one where everything like trying to discover out how you've changed the universe just by existing and figuring out the shape Mandalorian society might look like generations from now because you exist-”

“No pressure on me, right?” Din interrupted.

“- if you tell me it's a hike I'm knocking you unconscious on the spot,” Paz finished.

“I knew you were a romantic at the core,” Din teased.

Paz kit Din's helmet with another rock and, this time, Din laughed.

–

Finally.

Nati had eyes on her target.

Her target had eyes _all over_ him, so if she did anything, if she made any sound, it was over for her. Her cover would be blown and either he'd run again or he'd realize his run was up and he had to fight if he wanted to stay alive.

And so, she was stuck in this tree. It had been an excellent scouting spot – near a river, well-camouflaged, branches thick enough to hold her weight indefinitely. And then the fob went wild and she _looked_ and there he was, getting a drink from the river.

But seriously, what advantage did so many eyes give like that? Could he close them all independently or like, when he laid down or even sat down did he have to chose between _seeing anything at all but whichever eyes came into contact with a surface were protected_ and _getting whatever he came into physical contact with all over the eyes that made contact_?

And _**seriously**_ what was _with_ all those eyes? Most creatures, sentient or not, kept their brains and eyes fairly close together. Did this guy have a bunch of brains? Or was his brain like, spread out and between bone and muscle of something?

_Where was the best place to land the first shot?_

Anywhere, she decided, was a good place to land said shot, so long as that anywhere included at least one eye. Even if it wasn't an eye that lead to a brain, she had to assume getting shot in the eye was going to be a _major_ deterrent from running.

And so she fired.

In one eye and out...another.

She let herself shiver at the thought of how many eyes she'd have to shoot in order to get every last one if it came to that.

Her target flailed and yowled and she took another shot. It hit him in the knee – at least it looked like a knee so that's what she was calling it – and he went down but he was down but still flailing.

“Why,” she said aloud as she aimed a third shot, “can't you have the decency to die quickly?”

Her third shot hit him in the chest.

“Well,” she made her HD give her a life sign reading, “I suppose if you're only wanted dead then decency wasn't a concept that you ever really figured out.”

There were no life signs.

Nati shot him five more times just to be sure before she let herself fall out of her tree.

It was much faster than climbing down.

She landed on her feet but dropped quickly into a forward roll. Her ankles and knees weren't happy but they still worked just fine. She walked over to what was left of the target to find he was more oozing than bleeding.

“Yeesh,” she said aloud, “Tough luck ain't it pal?”

She realized she had at least a day's worth of dragging this dead bastard back to the ship – longer if she wanted to sleep or eat or anything that resembled taking care of herself.

She sat down and laid backward, legs still crossed but back flat, and made a loud, frustrated noise and refused to let herself close her eyes because napping next to a corpse seemed like a terrible idea.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been laying there or if she'd succeeded in _not_ falling asleep when she heard footsteps. She was back on her feet with her gun drawn in a literal heartbeat and fired a warning shot in the direction of the noise – too high to hit anyone but close enough to be clear that it was a warning.

“Oh shit,” she lowered her gun, “I almost just became the beroya that shot the king twice.”

“Actually you almost hit Paz that time,” Din called to her.

“In that case I nearly just became the beroya who shot two Kings in less than a week,” she holstered the thing.

“I do appreciate not being shot,” Paz told her, “Good instinct, though,” he turned to Din and muttered, “Is that how it works, we're both Kings?”

“No idea,” Din was so very clearly trying _not_ to think of the implications.

And here Nati had thought they'd been married in secret for a long time.

_Whoops._

“You two realize we all have our helmets on and as such I can still hear you, right?” Nati asked, “Okay, so, I'll admit, I have no idea how I'm getting this guy back to the ship.”

“I'll go get the ship,” Din told her, “Wait here.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Nati sat back down, “Just. Thank fuck.”

–

Flying over the forest to get to the ship had been so, so much easier than the past two days' of constant walking with periodic bouts of climbing and a single bout of swimming that it turned out they did not need to have done. 

Din was still damp, his hands were the type of sore that stiffness brings, and he was ready for some food followed by a nap.

But first, he had to retrieve two of the most important people on his world along with the corpse they were effectively babysitting.

It could have been worse, he supposed. He could have had to send Paz to get the ship.

–

Nati was trying to teach Paz how to skip rocks across the river's surface with very little luck.

“It's all in the wrist,” she told him, “Well, and the timing. Wrist and timing.” She loosed the rock she was demonstrating and it skipped four times before it sank.

“I don't know if I'm understating my lack of coordination or you're putting too much stock in my ability to do fine movements like that,” Paz said as he tried again.

“Maybe somewhere in the middle of those two options,” Nati suggested as she watched the ripples from where Paz's stone had just straight-up sunk fade and then disappear.

“Where'd you learn to skip rocks?” Paz asked her.

“I, uh,” she hesitated, “Are we allowed to talk about our lives before the covert?”

“It is not forbidden,” Paz told her.

“Really,” Nati stopped searching for a skipping stone to stare at him, “It's just. Nobody does it.”

“I can't speak for everyone,” Paz told her, “But the before tends to bring a lot of pain and feelings of helplessness.”

“I learned how to fire a blasted before I could be trusted to pour liquids from a large container into a smaller container without getting more on the floor than in the small container,” she told him, “We all did, everyone in my village and the next village and the one after that.”

She paused to skip the rock she'd just found.

“Some of the older folk, they'd teach us things like skipping rocks and games that involved hand-clapping and stuff but,” she paused and sighed and sat down with her feet in the river, armor and all, “We didn't really play if they weren't making us play. We were fighters. If you were big enough to hold a blaster, you were big enough to fight.

“The Empire raided us all the time. We were a mining planet and they wanted our ores for their stormtrooper armor. If they didn't mine enough – well, if those among us they selected for ore striping duties didn't mine enough – they'd terrorize some random handful of villages like that would make more metals just appear for harvesting.

“It never ended well, shooting at them. Lost my mom when I was five and my dad when I was eight. It wasn't until I was eleven that I became a foundling, and even then it was...it's always felt like more of an accident than anything else. Like the one who took me away from that living nightmare of a planet wasn't supposed to be there, like he'd just shown up through no fault of his own...” she trailed off.

“That explains your skills,” Paz told her, “Your spirit, though, that's all you.”

“Thanks,” she wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that, “Sorry, I just kind of. I dumped that all out. Sorry.”

Paz splashed her and told her, “Don't be sorry.” Nati screamed and splashed back but she was laughing as she did so.

–

Nati was sitting across from Greef just like Din had when she'd gotten her little fracking fob. Her head was held high and her shoulders proud. Din and Paz flanked her, standing, watching.

All three of them were soaking wet and Nati was fairly certain she had river rocks in the crevices of her armor.

“So,” Greef said as he slid Nati the payment, “I assume you were, in fact, able to take this target down without help.”

“You assume correctly,” Nati tried to sound serious but she was _excited._

“It's against Guild code for me to ask why all three of you thought it necessary to walk in here soaking wet when your target was not an aquatic,” Greef said slowly, “but I do advise taking the time to dry off before you drop off your next bounty.”

And that was it.

Nati was a Guild member.

Nobody was going to believe this story if she told them every detail.

–

It was time to leave.

Nati had accepted her next target immediately after collecting the bounty for the one that earned her her spot, and time was not a thing she had to waste while Din and Paz needed to get the money from _their_ bounties back to the group.

“I'm going to miss you both,” Nati told them, “Thank you. For everything.”

“I'm proud of you,” Din hugged her as he told her, “You do the entire covert proud.”

“You are going to be remembered for generations,” Paz told her, “as the beroya who rose from the ashes.”

Paz joined the hug.

“Behave yourself,” Din told her, “Or at the very least don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“I feel like that's a short list,” she managed to sniffle and laugh at the same time.

“Meh,” Din shrugged, “And remember: if you need us, all you have to do is let us know and we'll be there.”

“Thanks,” Nati took a deep breath, “Take care of yourselves.”

“We'll see you again soon,” Paz promised her.

“Good,” she said as Paz let her go, “Bring Cobb next time though, yeah?” 

She started walking towards her ship and Din and Paz watcher her go.

“Did,” Paz nearly stammered, “did we tell her about that?”

“Unless I'm forgetting something major, no, we did not,” Din leaned against Paz.

“It's not like he's a _secret_ , just that too many members of the covert were a risk for getting hostile and we didn't want to make it worse,” Paz wasn't sure why he felt the need to defend himself.

“Guess we are going to have to bring him next time,” Din decided.

Nati tapped her helmet a few times in an overstated series of movements.

_I can still hear you two,_ she seemed to be saying.

Din laughed as Paz informed him: “It's not going to be long at all before she surpasses you, you know?”

“She already has,” Din said fondly, “She absolutely already has.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What like I'd pass up an opportunity to dump some backstory?
> 
> Also, you will start seeing some one-shots and shorts from me intermittently. I apparently am physically and mentally incapable of working on only one project at a time.
> 
> Don't worry though, UtSS is going to keep getting at LEAST one chapter done a day.


	65. Interlude: Glad to Have You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are things Paz doesn't talk about, doesn't allow to see the light of day, things he forbids from taking form lest they become real and inescapable.
> 
> Unless someone asks the right questions, and Din is in the habit of being someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes I have brought some feelings for you lot please enjoy them

Back in his ship, Din let his back and shoulders rest into the back of the pilot seat. Beside him, Paz was trying to remember which events needed to happen and in what order for the ship to take off.

“Little orange switch next to the switch with the knife mark in it?” Paz was, thankfully, doing this aloud so Din could tell him whether he was right or not.

“Nope,” Din let his eyes closed.

Paz made a frustrated sound that was nearly loud enough to be a shout.

“How do you make it look so easy?” Paz slammed the heel of his hand into the dashboard.

“Decades of practice,” Din opened one eye to glance at Paz, “Did you hit any buttons?”

“I,” Paz looked down, “Crap, yeah, I knocked the little slider thing up a bit.”

“The fact whoever designed this ship put things that slide right where people would lean over either wasn't thinking or wasn't designing it for humans,” Din said with a sigh, “Okay, watch closely, and stop me if you're not keeping up.”

He sat up and started resetting everything so he could walk Paz through from start to finish.

–

He was never going to learn to fly the ship.

Not on his own anyway.

Din was patient – Almost too patient, seriously, did this man's patience _run out_ at all? – and thus far had been willing to walk Paz through takeoff again and again, but there _had_ to be a point where Din realized his patient teachings were being wasted.

It might be soon, based on how quiet Din had been since they'd gotten in the air.

He didn't want to open his mouth to try to ask what was bothering Din in case something antagonizing came out.

“Was she there?” Din finally asked, “The last fight, in the sewers, was she there?”

Paz sighed, a heavy thing that did nothing to shift the weight of the question, and ran his hands over his face.

“She was,” Paz saw no point in lying or trying to find words to soften the blow, “She fought like she had the strength and speed of ten of us in one body.”

Din made an unhappy noise.

“I didn't know she was still a kid, okay?” Paz snapped.

“How could you not know?” Din did not sound angry, just hurt.

Paz would have rather him sounded angry.

“What was I supposed to do, go around asking everyone how old they were when they volunteered to stay behind until the last of us either escaped or fell?” Paz _did_ sound angry – was angry – as he refused to look at Din, “In case you forgot there was a _slaughter_ masquerading as a _raid_ going on.”

“What? No!” Din blanched, “But _listen_ to her! She _sounds_ young!”

“You think I haven't noticed?” Paz stood up, clipping the top of his head on the roof of the cockpit.

Din made a frustrated sound, words not happening, and Paz walked away.

“Paz!” Din called after him, “Paz, wait!” He was on his feet, following Paz despite how small the ship was.”

“For what?” Paz snarled and whirled around to face Din, “For you to remind me that _I don't know_ how many _**children**_ we lost in the sewers, how many days never got to be lived by the ones who were supposed to be the future, our future?” 

Din sighed but it sounded like a growl and disappeared back into the cockpit.

–

Din had started watching space blur past him but would up zoning out so deeply that he nearly missed Paz siting down next to him.

Din turn towards him to apologize but didn't even get his mouth open before Paz said, “I'm sorry.”

“Me, too,” Din settled back into his seat, “You didn't deserve that.”

“I did, though,” Paz ran his hands over his face and then covered his face, his words muffled just slightly as he kept talking, “I didn't even think that some of the kids would have stayed behind. We – they – all the kids and elders and sick were supposed to be evacuated first. I don't think I _could_ have stopped to consider how many would have disobeyed so they could - we didn't even have anywhere to _go,_ Din. Everyone _scattered_ while a few of us held the line so the others had a _chance_ to escape.”

“How did everyone rally at the new covert?” Din's shoulders were slumped forward and his head was down.

“I,” Paz paused and took a deep breath and felt like he might break if he had to talk about it.

He pressed on anyway.

“I found the Armorer firsts,” he felt like he was shaking but couldn't tell, “She. She left, too, after the battle was over. We all did.”

Din reached out to Paz but stopped short of touching him.

Paz took Din's hand and gripped it so tightly there was going to be a bruise.

“None of us were uninjured. I was,” Paz swallowed like his own spit got stuck in his throat, “My armor was _gone_. I wore shreds. She...she was much better off, but of course she was. You've seen her fight.

“She went back to the covert to honor the dead and salvage what she could. And I,” he paused again, “I tracked as many of us as I could. I hunted and followed and _chased_ for months and didn't even have anywhere to send them.”

Paz stopped talking, his face still buried on his hands, and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. Din shifted so he was facing Paz and put his forehead on Paz's forward.

“So many were wounded,” Paz's words left heavy, “Some of them. Din, some of them didn't even make it long enough to get to the new covert once we – once she found it. It took _weeks_ and everyone was so busy running and hiding and trying to survive that nobody,” Paz's breath hitched, “Nobody even bothered to find a 'fresher, so few of us even found food to do more than make sure we didn't die.

“Everyone was sick, Din, in the beginning. Infected blood and poorly cauterized wounds and filth and starving and dehydrated and _dying,_ Din,” his whole body shuddered, “We've pulled ourselves together, but you've seen how disorganized and volatile the whole thing is.”

“And the files just broken everyone open again,” Din's energy sunk into itself, tried to rend Din into nothingness.

“ _Finished_ breaking everything open, I think,” Paz told him, “It's...it's easy to slip into a state where nothing's real and you just exist and nothing more than that. No life, no consequences, no...just nothing. Your body's going and your life ticks on but...”

“That explains why you...explains Tatooine,” Din's thoughts weren't quite solid enough to take the shape if a sentence.

“Yeah,” Paz managed to squeeze Din's hand even harder, “I. I've spent my whole like wanting a war and the first battle shattered me.”

“It's hardly a fair thing,” Din started to say.

“War isn't fair, Din,” Paz managed a snarl, his anger rising above his sorrow for a moment, “We both know this.”

“That's not what I was talking about,” Din huffed, “In war there's a bond, a _family,_ there's people on the other side, people to mourn with and celebrate with and love and care for-”

“Din,” Paz tried to interrupt him.

“What happened to you wasn't _war,_ Paz,” Din continued, “It was genocide.”

“And at least one child went through it with me,” Paz's voice was weak all the sudden, distant, almost fading.

Silence, save for Paz's ragged breathing, and then.

“I shouldn't have asked,” Din told him.

“You had the right to ask,” Paz shook his head, “They're your people, too.”

Din nudged Paz until Paz was sitting up. Din moved to sit sideways in Paz's lap, back to the ship and feet on the pilot's chair. Paz held Din tight against him while Din rested his head on Paz's shoulder and Paz rested his cheek on Din's head.

“It's hard,” Paz muttered, “Like who I used to be is a stranger and who I am doesn't feel...whole.”

“It all seems unreal sometimes,” Din muttered, “Like this was all manufactured and I'm just caught in the middle of it.”

Paz made a noise of wounded agreement.

“It's not all been a nightmare, though,” Din told him, “Hell, there have been some wonderful things to come out of it.”

“And wonderful people,” Paz kissed the top of Din's head.

“Fantastic relationships,” Din added.

Paz took a deep breath, taking in Din's scent and letting himself feel the movements of Din's breathing. Din sighed again and settled into Paz a little more.

“When we land,” Din told him, “we're getting you something to eat first and foremost.”

“Not hungry,” Paz rebuffed.

“Doesn't matter” Din informed him, “Neither of us have eaten in two days.”

Silence, save for both of their easy breathing, and then.

“I'm glad I have you to look out for me,” Paz told Din.

“I'm glad to have you,” Din sounded half-asleep.

“Hmn,” Paz kissed the top of Din's head again, “I'm glad to have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay they reunite with Cobb next chapter.


	66. Touching Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Paz are so, so excited to see Cobb again.
> 
> Once they figure out this maze of a city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are back! The Boys are back! The boys are back and they're looking for...the ship, really.

Lothal was such a busy planet.

Din had parked just outside the city Cobb, Peli, and the Armorer had spent the past several weeks. Capital City, they called it. Straight to the point but lacking in imagination, it was a _huge_ city. He'd taken the closest parking spot he could get to the main ship but it was still _on the other side of the city_ and about an hour and a half ago packing their armor in crates and dragging the crates with them to surprise everyone had seemed like a _fantastic_ idea.

Okay, so the first twenty of those minutes were spent buying food and then shoveling food in their faces while the vendor watched in mute horror at the speed-to-volume ratio he was witnessing. 

But still.

“I think we're lost,” Paz remarked.

“We're not lost,” Din told him.

“How?” Paz asked as he gestured around him, “How are we _not lost?_ ”

“Lost implies we know where we're supposed to end up,” Din explained, “And while we know the general area and what the ship looks like, that's more of an idea than a destination.”

Paz stopped walking for a minute and groaned.

“Suddenly realizing there was no actual thought behind this plan?” Din asked.

“Yep,” Paz popped the _p_ , “So uh...”

“Call a ride?” Din suggested.

“Call a ride,” Paz agreed.

–

Peli was the first to see them.

Her entire face lit up and she let out a little screeching laugh as she _tackled_ Din to the ground, Din landing on his back and Peli's face hitting the ground. She rolled off him and sprung back to her feet while Din got up with a little more care.

“You're back!” she was so, so happy to see them, “I had no idea you were coming back today!”

“Plan was to surprise everyone,” Paz told her, “Oh no don't take me down too.”

“Oh fine,” Peli gave him a much more gentle hug, “Ship's three blocks down, then take a right, follow the broken lamps, can't miss it.”

“Thanks Peli,” Paz returned the hug, “Cobb there?”

“I think he's at work actually,” Peli told them, “Should be off soon. Go, shower, clean yourselves up, feed yourselves, nap.”

“How do you know we need those things?” Paz asked, “Except the shower. Don't answer that.”

Peli just laughed and shooed them away.

–

Cobb was exhausted.

It wasn't work – work was easy. It was...something else, something more, something _deeper._ Almost a stagnation but there was something anxious about it that kept it from being truly still.

He stopped by Peli's garage on his way home with a container of take-away for the both of them for dinner.

Peli always worked late, Cobb had come to learn. Well, late by everyone else's standards. Hers? Cobb wasn't sure what hours Peli believed were reasonable.

He wasn't sure what Peli believed was reasonable in general, but he was glad she existed within whatever parameters those were.

“Peli!” Cobb called into the garage, “Peli, dinner!”

“Oi!” Peli called but didn't indicate where she was, “'Priciate it but can't really stop what I'm doing! Mind leaving it in the mess for me?”

“Oh,” Cobb blinked a few times, “Yeah, sure. Need any help?”

“I'm fine,” Peli assured him.

Cobb shrugged and started heading back to the ship.

–

“Alright boys,” Peli told her droids, “Lock it up and let's go follow him. I am _not_ missing this.”

The shop was closed up in record time.

She had to jog for the first two blocks, her droids chattering and stumbling behind her but still keeping up. 

She nearly ran directly into the Armorer as they rounded the same corner from opposite directions.

“Shit,” Peli grabbed both her arms, “Sorry, sorry.”

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“The boys are back and they're surprising Cobb,” Peli grabbed her by the wrist and took off at a jog again, “Come on!”

“I have never been _glad_ there's so much laundry to do,” the Armorer laughed as she let Peli pull her along.”

–

Paz was glad Din had talked him into waiting for Cobb on the ship's ramp.

Cobb had let out a strangled cry and dropped something on the ground when he saw them and then _ran_ to them.

They caught him, embraced him, and they cried together.

“Oh you bastards,” Cobb told them, “You absolute bastards.”

“Missed you too,” Din managed to say it with a laugh.

They stayed like that for a while, embracing and exchanging frenzied half-sentences and then Din said, “Peli?”

“Oh Peli,” Cobb broke off the embrace so he could turn around to face the direction Din's line of sight was leading, “You knew?”

Paz looked, too, and sure enough Peli was standing there with another woman. They stood pressed against each others sides, arms around each other's waists, and Paz felt like there were some key details he was missing.

“What, did you think I'd actually pass up take-away?” Peli teased, “Go on then you three, go have your fun, catch up, we'll be fine without you.” She held up Cobb's dropped bag as if it was added assurance.

“Wait, who..?” Paz started asking.

“Did we pick up another crew member?” Din narrowed his eyes.

The woman laughed and said, “You kids go have fun,” and Paz _recognized_ that voice.

He and Din both made a series of noises that were probably supposed to be questions but Peli just made shooing motions with her free arm.

Her droids, though, skittered into the ship and then disappeared down the hallways.

Paz watched Peli and the Armorer walk away, just their pinkies linked.

“Yeah, caught me by surprise, too,” Cobb said once they were out of earshot, “Bed?”

“Bed,” Paz and Din said at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're all so adorable.


	67. Missed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AndThenTheyFucked.jpg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly with a summary like that, who needs a start note?

They stumbled over each other, hands and lips and teeth and nails _everywhere_ and the fact they had their clothes on when they got to their room spoke volumes about how much deeply ingrained basic social decencies were for all three of them.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, though, all bets were off.

Cobb broke what little lingering decorum was still trying to hand on first, a hand on Din's crotch as he stroked Din through his pants. Din threw his head back and moaned and Paz _whimpered_ and realized how deeply he'd missed this.

How much these men were a part of the foundation of his _now._

Paz shrugged off his shirt and then reached around Cobb to undo his belt. Cobb hissed and leaned back and let his head fall onto Paz's shoulder. Paz growled and struggled with the buckle for a moment before the cursed thing came undone.

Paz told Din to move with his eyes and Din did just that and Paz all but slammed Cobb into the wall and ground against him once, hard, and Cobb let out a sound Paz hadn't heard him make before.

“Yes?” Paz asked.

“Yes-yes,” Cobb was panting already, “Fuck yes.”

“I was assuming that was the aim here,” Din remarked.

Paz flicked Din's arm and Din laughed and Cobb laughed but Paz bit down on his neck and the laugh shifted to a gasp that nearly teetered into a moan.

“Fuck,” Din said.

“Assuming that's the aim here,” Paz teased.

“Never change,” Cobb told the both of them and then, quieter, “I missed you both so much.”

“I missed you,” Paz told him.

“Terribly, the both of us,” Din added as he stripped his own clothes off, “A lifetime without you and then suddenly we've had you for a few months and it's like there's a hole.”

Paz kissed the spot on Cobb's neck he'd just bit and Cobb shivered.

“Let us show you just how much we missed you,” Paz purred into Cobb's ear..

“Please,” Cobb wasn't quite begging, but all of the sudden Paz _wanted_ to make Cobb beg...

...but not tonight. Tonight was a night for making up for lost time, and Paz did not have the patience to draw things out long enough to elicit begging.

“Yes,” Paz told him as he _finally_ managed to undo the damned buttons on Cobb's pants.

It was a quick thing, the way both Din and Cobb turned to Paz and stripped him down with no coordination between them, just a frenzied desire that meant for all Paz knew his clothes had been thrown into a hole in the fabric of reality itself and he'd never see them again.

“Now,” Paz pressed himself chest-to-chest with Cobb, “How shall we do this?”

“Hmn,” Din moved so he could press his chest to Cobb's back, “What do you think, Cobb, how shall we do this?”

“No thinking,” Cobb told them, “No think.”

Paz met Din's eyes and Din looked _wild_ in ways that made Paz want to _submit_ to Din, wanted to see what Din could come up with – what Din _wanted_ – when Din had complete control. 

But this was not the night for that, either.

“How about,” Din sounded like he'd been planning this for at least a few minutes, “I fuck him while you suck him off?”

Cobb whimpered and shivered and Din pressed a kiss to the base of his spine while Paz pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Perfect,” Paz purred and dropped to his knees and put a hand on either of Cobb's hips before taking as much of Cobb's cock into his mouth as he could.

Above him, Din tried and failed to suppress a small chuckle.

“I,” Din said and paused, “am going to go get the lube.”

Paz nearly responded, but Din preempted it and told him, “Don't talk with your mouth full.”

Cobb snorted a laugh and threaded both hands through Paz's hair. Paz's moan came out as a hum and Cobb pulled ever so slightly and Paz dug his fingers into Cobb's hips.

“Good?” Cobb asked.

Paz, at a loss of how else to respond, flashed Cobb a brief thumbs-up.

Din returned, bottle in hand and already slicking up his own cock. Once he was behind Cobb, he used his already-lubed hand to smear it between Cobb's ass cheeks.

The details of whatever Din was doing were a blur for Paz after that. There was a lot of little breathy sounds coming from Cobb and a lot of low, encouraging sounds coming from Din but his focus wasn't really on that, not yet.

Cobb was thrusting into his mouth and Paz was loving it. It felt like Cobb was _out of control_ , but the type of out of control where it's still, somehow, rooted in something important, like it's just a half away from the type of passion a lot of people talk about but so few truly feel.

Paz had a new goal that sat alongside the first one, showing Cobb how much he missed him.

Hit that level of passion.

Paz hollowed his cheeks and _sucked,_ ran his tongue across the head of Cobb's dick, rolling his tongue from side to side and Cobb let out a _shout_ and Din murmured something that sounded like, “Yes, perfect, so perfect,” and Din's hands were covering Paz's all the sudden and Paz hummed and Cobb was _whimpering_ as Din started to thrust.

Din took speed and depth cues from Paz, let Paz guide Cobb's hips and, really, if Paz had any ability to think left about him at that point, he would have made a mental note to thank Din later.

Suddenly, oh so suddenly, Cobb pulled Paz's hair _hard_ and tried to thrust deeper and Paz _moaned_ and _**let him**_.

A sound that would later be thought of as a moan colliding with a gasp and then stumbling into a growl escaped Paz's throat and Cobb leaned back to brace himself against Din as Paz dug his nails into Cobb's hips.

“Fuck,” Cobb moaned, “Paz, _fuck,_ PAZ!” Cobb's hands formed fists and pulled Paz's hair again, sharp, without mercy, without thought and Paz leaned his head back, Cobb's cock falling out of his mouth, spit visible, mouth open panting.

“So fucking beautiful,” Cobb told him, “You're so fucking beautiful, Paz.”

Words failed Paz.

He grabbed Cobb's cock and started stroking, slowly, then faster and faster as Din picked up his pace, no longer worried about making Paz choke. Cobb's hands scrambled to find more to grip than hair. Paz stood up and pressed himself against Cobb, reveled in the way Din was slamming Cobb against him, harder and faster and every sound Cobb made was was getting higher and higher and higher until he cried out and came, fingernails raking down Paz's back.

Paz growled and pressed a kiss against Cobb's collarbone as Cobb spasmed against Paz.

“I've got you,” Paz told him, “I've got you, Cobb, I've got you.”

Cobb keened and Din slowed his pace, waiting to see if Cobb needed him to stop or pause but Cobb reached behind him and pawed at Din's hips and _whined_ as he begged, “Please!”

“I've got you,” Paz said again, “Both of you, I've got you,” he promised and kissed every part of Cobb's neck and shoulders he could reach while Din slammed into Cobb over and over until Din came with a cry and slumped against Cobb.

“I've got you, Din,” Paz murmured as Din nuzzled into Cobb, “I've got you both, I've got you.”

“You do,” Cobb looked up and pressed a gentle kiss to Paz's lips, “You've got us.”

Paz lead them both to the bed, made sure they laid themselves down gently, Cobb on his side and Din on his back. He laid down on his stomach between them, made sure his body overlapped the both of them just slightly. Cobb put one arm over Paz's back and dangled one leg over Paz's legs. Din tugged at Paz, nudged Paz closes and closer to him until Paz laid on top of him. Cobb scooted over, too, never breaking contact with Paz as he did so.

“And we, Paz,” Cobb's voice was soft yet jagged around the edges in ways that sent shivers down every nerve left alive in Paz's body, “We're got you. Don't you forget that.”

“Couldn't,” Paz promised, “Won't.”

“Good,” Din held Paz close against him and Cobb shifted to lay on top of the both of them.

“How's your rib cage feeling?” Paz asked.

“Loved,” Din said with a small laugh, “Very, _very_ loved.”

“Good,” Cobb chuckled and reached around Paz to put a hand on Din's face.

They laid there, the sound of their breathing and the feel of their hearts beating against their rib cages the only things that even dared try to join them in their moment.

“Hey Paz?” Cobb asked.

“Hmn?” Paz had began to drift off.

“You good?” Cobb asked.

“Very,” Paz shifted so his cheek was pressed against Din's face and closed his eyes.

Paz felt the air shift around him, the tranquility giving way to something _electric_ as Cobb let himself roll off of them and Din sat up, pushed Paz up until he was on his knees, straddling Din's lap. Cobb got up and walked halfway around the bed so he could wind up on his knees, too, behind Paz, one arm slung over Paz's shoulder and reached across his chest, the other wrapped around Paz's waist and _reaching_ , fingertips digging into Paz's stomach and Paz whimpered, a breathy little sound that a few months ago he would have been embarrassed to be making, but now he reveled in what was drawing those sounds out of him.

Din slicked his hand with his own saliva and reached forward and started jerking Paz to hardness. Paz reached forward to try to touch Din but Cobb held him back and told him, “We got you,” and Paz let his head fall back, let the back of his head rest against Cobb's shoulder as Cobb held him tight and Din moved his hands in ways that were almost unfair.

Paz started to buck into Din's hand, greedy, wanting more, and Din gave and gave while Cobb gripped him, fingers and _nails_ digging into Paz. 

“So good, Paz,” Cobb murmured, “You're so good.”

“So good for us,” Din told him, “So good for me.”

Cobb hummed, pleased, and adjusted so he could bite down on Paz's neck, hard, hard enough there was going to be a bruise in the shape of a broken ring and Paz _screamed_ Cobb's name and _came_ right onto Din, who looked so beyond pleased with himself.

Cobb loosened his grip on Paz, let Paz slump over slowly, back onto Din, and Cobb shifted so he was lying on his side, pressed against them, one arm over Paz's back as Din and Paz rested their foreheads together, eyes closed and faces _relaxed_ in ways Cobb had never seen before. They were beautiful, the both of them, his hunters come back from their hunt safe and whole and _so very loved._

He had them.

Despite everything, he had them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't that just refreshing?
> 
> As a side note, I am SO tempted to do a coda to this that's just the shenanigans the Armorer and Peli get up to when no one else is around.


	68. Time Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, to move forward, you have to stop for a while and embrace how counter-intuitive that sounds before you take any next steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd tell y'all this is a bit of a transition chapter but really this whole story is a giant transition.

“Cara!” Winta squealed and ran to her, “Cara, Cara you're back!”

“Oh easy kiddo,” Cara tried to caution as Winta lept into her arms and knocked the supply bags to the ground, “Everything alright?”

“Careful, sweetie,” Omera called after Winta as she started walking towards them, “She was only gone a few hours.”

“It was forever,” Winta whined as she hung off Cara, “I counted!”

“A whole forever?” Cara teased, “I'll try to get the shopping done in half a forever next time.”

“Take me with you next time!” Winta let go and Cara eased her to the ground, “I want to go to the market!”

“You can come with me to the market when you've come back the first time we call for a week,” Cara promised her.

“A week is _so many forevers_ ,” Winta complained as she picked up one of the dropped bags, “This is heavy!”

“Give it here,” Cara held out a hand and Winta gave it to her and then climbed onto Cara's back.

“Anything exciting today?” Winta asked as she picked up the rest of the bags and handed a few of them to Cara.

“Got us a couple melons that looked interesting,” Cara told them, “Apparently we're not supposed to eat the skins, but judging by how many times the vendor repeated that I think it's a little stronger than that.”

“No skins, got it,” Omera smiled, “How were the customers?”

“Oh, you know,” Cara would have shrugged if Winta wasn't keeping her shoulders down by hugging around her neck, “Lots of people whose lives changed forever when Sorgan was swept by an army that decided not to strip the planet for its resources getting far too excited about all the new things being brought to their homes and villages that haven't much changed in generations.”

“Always the cynic,” Omera bumped her shoulder into Cara.

“Eh,” Cara bumped Omera back, “It's good to have access to things, but so much so fast?”

“It's unsettling a lot of things,” Omera agreed, “A lot of people.”

“Villages,” Cara added.

“Raiders,” Winta chimed in, “I like not being afraid of raiders.”

“Yeah,” Omera agreed, “Not a bad trade-off.”

“Well, if- _whoa shit_ -” Cara slipped and Winta let go and fell to the ground – not into the pond – and Cara found one leg sunk into the pond to the knee, her other knee on the ground and supplies held above her head to keep them dry.

“Are you alright?” Omera asked as she took the bags, put them on the ground, and helped Cara back onto land.

“Fine, I'm fine,” Cara assured her, “Just. Ugh. At _least_ once a month I do this.”

“Always when you're talking,” Omera chuckled.

“Yeah, well,” Cara said as she picked up her bags, “I've gotten better at not rolling my ankle or falling all the way in.”

“Up side to everything,” Omera said fondly.

“There has to be,” there was something deep and dark laying in wait just on the edges of Cara's lightness.

They walked in a comfortable silence until Winta said, “Mommy when can we tell her!”

“Tell me?” Cara squinted.

“I was going to wait until we were _home_ ,” Omera looked at Winta as she said _home_ , “Din called.”

“Din called?” Cara tilted her head, “Is everything alright?”

“Paz and Peli called too!” Winta added, “They all called together!”

“Seems they're alright`,” Omera told her, “Apparently he and Paz are on Lothal with Cobb, Peli, and the Armorer.”

“Ah,” Cara wasn't quite sure what do say, “When are they going to come pick us up?”

“No idea,” Omera answered.

“Din says they're going on vacation!” Winta explained, “Apparently they, uh, what were the words he used mommy?”

“They're thinking Din didn't actually get any time to sort out what happened to him,” Omera didn't use the same words they'd used, “and they're going to try to give him some time.”

“Sounds complicated,” Cara said.

“Is complicated,” Omera sighed.

“If only time could be gifted,” Cara shook her head, “Think it'll help? How'd he seem?”

“He seemed,” Omera tried to choose her words carefully, “Alright but stretched thin. Didn't really talk about their, uh, their work.”

“Understandable,” Cara tried to put the words that showed she was listening but didn't have much to say in order to keep the conversation going.

“They did rip him from Tatooine pretty quickly,” Omera noted.

“When it happened,” Cara felt wrong talking about it, “Gideon, the nightmare droids I refuse to name, the Jedi,” she took a deep breath, “The fact it didn't shatter him completely says a lot about his constitution.”

“He's always seemed sturdy,” Omera sounded only mostly focused, “But there's something trying to fray all his edges.”

“I think it's a some _what_ instead of a someone,” Cara guessed, “Lots of somewhats.”

“What's that mean?” Winta asked, “Can I climb on you again?”

“In opposite order of asking, yes,” Cara stopped so Winta could climb up, “and it means Din's had a lot of bad things happen to him and he needs to be able to let them settle so he can start feeling like himself again.”

“How will he do that?” Winta asked.

“Well,” Omera could finally see her door, “hopefully they've all decided to take Din somewhere quiet where he can start sorting his thoughts out instead of all of them happening at once.”

“Sorting his thoughts?” Winta hopped off Cara's back and ran the last few paces home, “What's that?”

“You know how when you're really scared and you feel like you can't think?” Omera tried to explain it to her.

“I try not to remember it,” Winta closed her eyes.

“And that's okay,” Omera put an arm around Winta and Winta turned to snuggled into her, “It's just, that's what Din's head is like almost all the time.”

“How do you know?” Winta asked.

“The more people you're around,” Omera spoke gently, “the more you start to learn when people are hiding their struggles deep down instead of working them out.”

“Why would he do that?” Winta asked, “I don't like the sound of it at all.”

“I think it's all he's ever known how to do,” Omera told her, “But, hopefully, Din's about to take a vacation with Paz and Cobb and all three of them are going to help each other get quiet heads again.”

“Vacation?” Cara asked.

“Vacation,” Omera nodded, “No idea who talked Din into that.”

“I'm glad they did,” Cara sounded relieved, “How do tuber wraps sound for lunch?”

“How many kinds of tubers?” Winta asked.

“How does five sound?” Cara offered.

Winta scrunched up her face. “That's too many,” she told Cara, “Four! I want four!”

“Four types it is then,” Cara smiled, “Did they say where they'd be going?”

“No,” Omera shook her head, “I don't think _they_ know where they're going.”

“Sound about right,” Cara snorted a little, “What about the other two?”

“Peli says she's going to drop my friends off!” Winta was excited again, her momentary fear forgotten.

“Sounds fun,” Cara said as she started assembling lunch, “Does that mean Peli's going to take a vacation too?”

“I think so,” Omera told her.

“Peli hit the ground running and hasn't stopped,” Cara paused her food prep and stared just down and to the side, eyes unfocused, “I'll admit I'm a little worried about credits once we get going again.”

“They've made it this far,” Omera sounded a bit more sure that Cara, “One worry at a time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cara started prepping again, “ And our worry right now is lunch.”

“Peli also says she and the Armorer are going to stay on Lothal once they drop my friends off!” Winta told her.

“Really?” Cara tried to envision the sheer uncoordinated chaos the two of them would become while unsupervised.

“Mmhmm,” Omera confirmed, “I'm surprised it took them this long to realize they all need to _stop_ for a bit.”

“If we'd suggested it they would have rejected it,” Cara sighed, “and then dug in their heels and taken longer to realize they need to take care of themselves.”

“Sounds right,” Cara agreed, “I will admit, having _months_ to spend with you two and _without_ worrying about raiders has been the best part of my life.”

“You can stay forever!” Winta told her.

Cara made a small, amused sound and smiled.

“Once we're done seeing what direction Din's legacy is headed,” Cara told her, “and we're sure he'll be alright, then yeah. I can stay many forevers.”

“I hope you will,” Omera told her.

“My own planet is gone,” Cara put the knife she was using down and put her palms on the counter, “but this is a nice home, too,” she paused, “You two are a lovely home.”

Omera gave Winta a squeeze before walking over to Cara and hugging her from behind. Cara let out a soft huff but then hugged Omera's arms.

“Ew,” Winta wrinkled her nose, “You're getting mushy all over my food!”

Cara and Omera laughed and Cara kissed the side of Cara's neck. Winta gave another _ew_ before she decided she was going to go outside to play until they called her in for lunch.

“I love her,” Cara said.

“And she loves you,” Omera rested her forehead against the back of Cara's head, “I'm glad.”

“Me, too,” Cara went back to prepping lunch with Omera attached, “Don't think I would have perused you if I wasn't sure Winta liked me.”

“I cannot tell you how thankful I am you accepted her as part of this from the start,” Omera told her.

“Yeah, well,” Cara's face was starting to hurt from smiling so much, “Date someone, date their family, you know?”

Omera huffed, a fond thing, and Cara tipped her head back to bonk it against Omera's gently.

“Date someone follow them all across the universe in some sort of weird protective measure,” Omera teased.

“And always wind up back home,” Cara said fondly.

“Always home,” Omera agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic bliss is best bliss.
> 
> But oh man are y'all READY to see Peli and the Armorer with only each other to report to?


	69. Time Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's vacation time!
> 
> Cobb's having A Morning ™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Heh. Chapter 69. Nice.~~
> 
> Man we're just going to have a mini-arc where everybody gets to find out what happens when they're honest with themselves first and the things they feel duty-bound to second and it's going to be FANTASTIC.

In times of quietude like this, every day there was a period between waking and thinking, a morning blur where things happened but nothing registered. Cobb thought of it as his _not-day,_ where nothing really counted but in a way that was comforting. The fact he _could_ give up so much focus, could let his mind and body come online slowly instead of forcing himself into high gear was, well.

It was beautiful.

He could sit in the mess with Din and Paz, waiting for their teas to finish brewing and their breakfasts to rehydrate, just...enjoying each other's existence.

But some mornings. Some mornings started out like this only to shift to the best version of himself, like a chain jerking his consciousness into place. It was jarring at best, those mornings, the space between fuzzy and _on_ non-existent. 

When Peli joined them in the mess hall and said, “Okay, so, here's the plan!” it became _one of those mornings._

Cobb kind of spaced out through the first half of it, his mind unwilling to absorb anything that came after the word _plan_ when he had _**just**_ gotten his men back and so it shut off again, blurred his intake senses so they couldn't give anything shape or meaning.

Around the time Din said, “I've never taken a vacation,” Cobb's brain decided it was time to engage with whatever was happening.

“Neither have I, it'll be fun!” Peli told him.

“A vacation,” Cobb said.

“An honest, _restful_ vacation,” Peli told him, “Not taking refuge in a little town somewhere, not mulling about on the ship trying to force everything to settle so we can keep moving, an _honest, **restful**_ vacation.”

“We can find a quiet planet,” Cobb suggested, “Somewhere designed for vacations instead of hiding.”

“See!” Peli exclaimed, “That's what I'm talking about!”

“What about you, then?” Din asked, “What will you do?”

“Oh, who knows,” Peli said with an over-exaggerated shrug, “Might keep the garage open, might take a vacation myself, might visit Sorgan and teach Winta how to fly a ship.”

“Say it out loud around her and it becomes real,” Din teased Peli, “You know she'd love that.”

“What ten year old doesn't want to fly a ship?” Peli asked.

“She's ten?” Cobb asked.

“I'm just guessing,” Peli admitted, “Anyway, you three, vacation, starting now, take the time you need to and I _promise_ I will personally come to deal with anything that tries to take you away from it,” she paused, “Which is how I wound up here in the first place, but nevermind that.”

“Nevermind that?” Cobb asked.

“All the alternative consequences of the choices I didn't make are horrifying and I tend to keep them as far away from me as possible,” Peli told them, “The point is, _vacation_!”

“Only if you promise to take one, too,” Din told her, “Even for a little while, you have to promise.”

“Alright, sure, vacation, promise,” Peli said, “We should call Cara and Omera to let them know what's going on.”

“After we finish breakfast?” Din asked.

“Yeah, right, sure, sorry, meet me in the closet whenever you're ready,” she said before she left them to their food.

“That was weird,” Paz said after she left, “and I think I missed half of that, at least.”

“Vacation,” Din said, “Rest, just the three of us. Vacation. Call the Sorgan crew. Vacation. I think those were all the key points.”

“You said vacation three times,” Paz pointed out.

“She said vacation a lot,” Din shrugged, “Figured I should put it in the conversation notes a few times.”

“Fair,” Paz removed his tea bag from his mug and put it on the edge of his plate, “Where should we go?”

“Somewhere quiet,” Din suggested, “Somewhere meant for vacations, like Peli said.”

“That's vague,” Paz wasn't really criticizing.

“That's as far as I've got,” Din admitted.

“Further than I've got,” Cobb still wasn't sure exactly what had just happened. 

“We should tell Cara and Omera,” Din noted, “And Winta by proxy.”

“Maybe we should tell Winta,” Paz suggested, “and see what happens if we let the kid plan something.”

“Cannot be worse than some of the plans we've had,” Din shook his head.

“Come on,” Cobb put his breakfast down, “Let's go call them and finish eating later.”

“Now?” Din asked.

“We're going to forget until we're already...wherever we're going...if we wait,” Cobb pointed out.

Din made a noise that managed to communicate _I agree but I'd rather not._

–

Peli had run all three of them down the list of how to take care of the droids three times and was quizzing them through the forth run through it.

“Peli,” Din finally said something, “Can't they just call you if they have questions?”

“And if I'm not here?” Peli put her hands on her hips, “Again, from the top.”

Next to him, Paz groaned and put his head on the mess hall table.

–

“You know,” the Armorer told Peli after they'd seen the trio off, “you didn't have to do that to them.”

“Have to, no,” Peli shrugged, “but just in case they got it in their heads they could take the ship...”

“You lectured them for an hour on how to care for droids they won't even have in their care for more than a few hours,” the Armorer shook her head, “Wonder how long they thought you wound have lectured them about how to look after the ship.”

Peli laughed and clapped the Armorer on the shoulder.

“Without your droids...” the Armorer did not finish her question, just tilted her head and waited to see what Peli thought the rest of the question should be and let her answer that one.

“I could take a vacation,” Peli shrugged.

“There's an _or_ in there, isn't there?” the Armorer sounded amused.

“Probably,” Peli grinned.

Whatever this period of tranquility was going to be for the others, there was no stillness to be found near Peli.

“Come on then,” the Armorer nudged her, “Show me what you have in mind.”

Peli laughed and started walking.

The Armorer followed.

–

It was simple, in theory: drop the droids off, say hello, catch up a bit, be on their way.

Quick stop, really, then they'd be off again and see where they landed.

They'd been on and off Sorgan in...almost two days.

Back in the air, they'd been quiet, almost subdued.

“That was...” Paz started to say something, then stopped.

“Weird?” Din guessed.

“Bit beyond weird?” Cobb put a little more effort into it.

“Surreal!” Din exclaimed, “Surreal's a bit beyond weird, yeah?”

“Can't say I've got a pre-made scale of it,” Cobb shrugged ever so slightly.

“Well I wouldn't call it bizarre,” Din huffed, “Not enough unexplainable elements for bizarre.”

“No I think bizarre's closest,” Paz joined back into the conversation.

“Was it?” Cobb squinted his eyes and tilted his head, “Was it bizarre, I mean.”

“Well I certainly wasn't expecting a hero's welcome,” Paz said, “We went incognito for a reason.”

“Little hard to go incognito with several small children screaming our names,” Cobb pointed out.

“Hadn't really factored children into the whole _incognito_ thing,” Din admitted, “Or that Winta would have told them all our names.”

“We didn't tell her not to,” Paz ran a hand through his hair.

“They see us as heroes,” Din sighed and let his head fall back to rest on the pilot's seat, “It'll be a bit of a debate as it whether or not the New Republic sees it that way.”

“Debate is a kind word for it,” Din huffed.

“Kind for them perhaps,” Paz crossed his arms and leaned against the cockpit wall with one shoulder, “Depending on how they judge us, might be kind, might be false hope.”

“I carry no hope that the New Republic will judge me lightly should they corner me,” Din sighed, “I've...done things.”

“Haven't we all?” Paz huffed.

“Not,” Din took a sharp breath, “Not just trying to keep the kid safe,” Din sounded like he was somewhere else entirely, “Before, when I was younger. Older, too, but...”

“There's three of us in this cockpit,” Cobb cut him off, “And if we kept bets between us, I'd put all my credits down on the notion none of us are proud of who we used to be,” he paused to look between Din and Paz, who both shifted but said nothing, “But who we are now, who _you two_ are to all those villages, to that _planet_ ,” Cobb took a deep breath, “As far as they're concerned, you're good men. Heroes, even, and I'd also be willing to bet that if – _**If!**_ – the New Republic cornered you and found you guilty of who you used to be, the entire planet, at least that one, maybe more, maybe many, they'd rally to you and erase who you used to be in favor of who you are to them.”

“I don't want them to have to rally,” Din said after a stretch of silence that had gone on almost too long, “They've been through too much already.”

“That's why you're a good man, Din,” Paz told him, “Just. Exactly why you're a good man.”

“You both are,” Cobb said.

“So are you,” Din reached out and grabbed Cobb's forearm.

Cobb made a sad, cut-off little sound and Din squeezed his forearm.

“Not to ruin the moment,” Paz cleared his throat, “but we still need to pick a planet.”

“Somewhere quiet,” Din closed his eyes, “Somewhere not too hot and not too cold.”

“How do you two feel about nature?” Cobb asked, “Water and trees and foragable food and all that sort of thing.”

“I don't think I'm against it,” Paz answered, “Can't say I've spent much time, you know, anywhere nature.”

“I know just the place,” Din's face lit up.

“Really?” Cobb asked at the same time Paz went, “Seriously?”

“Meets all the criteria,” Din shrugged, “We could park right there, or we could hike.”

Paz thunked his head against the cockpit wall a few times while Din chuckled.

“I'm missing something,” Cobb said aloud.

“We can tell the whole story when we land,” Din was still chuckling, “Don't worry, I won't make you hike there.”

“Well thank fuck,” Paz muttered, “Might have hijacked the ship and landed it closer to the river myself.”

“No,” Cobb and Din said in unison and it was Paz's turn to laugh.

“But really,” Din said as he started entering coordinates, “It'll be perfect.”

“Yeah,” Paz managed a smile.

“I'm excited because you're both excited,” Cobb told them, “I trust you. Both of you.”

–

“Come meet my friends!” Winta called to the droids skittering behind her, chattering happily and generally stumbling, “Friends, friends!”

Her friends from her home came running, curious, also skittering and stumbling and chattering happily.

From her front steps, Omera watched, amazed and amused by how similar the droids and the children were.

“Guess Peli really is taking a vacation,” Cara said from the porch lounge chair.

“Or at the very least finding an entirely new set of adventures to go on,” Omera was smiling, “It's amazing, Cobb and Peli, how quickly they adjusted to, well, everything.”

“You and Winta too,” Cara looked over to her, “You'd never been off planet.”

“I didn't scrape my existence out of the sand,” Omera huffed, almost disbelieving, “You told me about how they just stood in the rain on Nevarro.”

“Yeah,” Cara turned her attention back to the chaos that was the droid-children tangle, “Cobb and Peli, they're fascinating, really.”

“Wherever they wind up,” Omera said fondly, “they'll do great things without even meaning to.”

“Just like Din,” Cara almost laughed.

“Whenever they,” Omera cleared her throat, “Whenever _we_ get going again...are we going?” she huffed, “Sorry, that's not quite coming out right.”

“Do you want to go?” Cara asked.

“I,” Omera paused, “Yeah. I want to see this through.”

“It's all just on hold,” Cara stood up, “Seems to me like that's a good thing, the space and time for Din to rest.”

“Maybe even find himself,” Omera took Cara's hand and held it, “But yeah, I do want to see this through. Come back here when it's done, absolutely.”

They stood there a while, watching, _being._

“You'll really stay?” Omera asked.

“Shouldn't have left in the first place,” Cara squeezed her hand.

“It was a good idea in theory,” Omera sighed and leaned into Cara.

“This works in practice,” Cara settled against Omera's side. Omera gave a half-syllable laugh and kissed Cara's temple. “Wonder what they're doing,” Cara wondered aloud.

“After Morak none of their vacation stories are going to seem weird,” Omera remarked.

“Weird?” Cara scrunched up her nose.

“Bizarre?” Omera tried again.

“Impossible,” Cara settled on the word.

“Okay, yes, that's the word,” Omera put an arm around Cara's waist and pulled her a little closer, “Nothing those three get up to will seem impossible.”

Cara leaned her head on Omera's shoulder and chuckled.

–

Nati tapped her fob like it would get it to work better.

“Come on you piece of junk,” she was ready to throw it out the ship and see if it did anything, “You're so broken I'm _talking out loud to you!_ ”

A frustrated half-scream escaped her and she chucked it across her ship.

“If you're broken-broken I'm stealing every guild fob and tossing it into the lava rivers,” she warned the fob.

She huffed and sat down in the pilot's chair with way more force than she had intended. The impact moved up her spine and she shook it off.

Finally, the fob made a noise.

“Oh thank fuck!” she exclaimed as she whirled around and bounded across her ship to retrieve it, “Where are we going?” she fiddled with the thing a little bit, “Lothal. Lothal? Why does that sound familiar?”

She shrugged, put the efforts that were _trying to place where she'd heard of that planet before_ aside, and punched in the coordinates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!
> 
> This chapter's summary in my outlines was honestly my favorite one so far:
> 
> “Ship Shuffle: Peli's droids also get a vacation with Winta; Cobb, Din, and Paz take Din's new ship to the middle of nowhere but the weather's fantastic, Cara and Omera really settle in to this whole domestic thing; Peli and the Armorer are beholden to no gods or masters and have no witnesses.”
> 
> Soooo I turned the last chapter into the whole _Cara and Omera_ sentence and they ships didn't shuffle much, but, you know. Something something not sticking to the plan.


	70. Water's Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River's gentle, water's not freezing, the boys are in unfamiliar territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little one because the boys deserve a wholesome moment.

The forest was much nicer, Paz decided, when he wasn't trekking through them for days on end.

There was a solitude to it, the constant, quiet rumble of the river and the way the local fauna kept up a chatter that was alive in ways so steady and so...peaceful.

Like this place had its own...its own energy? It's own presence of place?

Maybe he was getting too invested in putting words to this, too focused on naming the what instead of, you know, relaxing and letting himself _be._

Like he was supposed to be doing.

“Water's colder than I expected,” Cobb pulled him from his thoughts, “but not terrible.”

Cobb had waded into the river up to his knees, let it flow around him, let it soak him.

“Air's warm though,” Din said as if they hadn't noticed, “Water _does_ take longer to hear than air, and there's no telling where this stream starts.”

“Well,” Cob sat down so the water was up to his neck, “there is one way to tell.”

“No,” Paz said almost too quickly, “We are _not_ hiking to the river's source.”

Din laughed and shed his clothes entirely and waded into the water as well.

“Okay, yeah, little cold,” Din said as he also say down to let the river run over everything below his neck, “Nice, though.”

Paz made a noise of indecision before he started shedding his clothes as well to join them.

“Should I have stripped down?” Cobb asked.

“No idea,” Paz said as he joined them, “Can't say I've ever done this before.”

“Neither have I,” Din had his hands held out in front of him, just below the water's surface, watching the way the water and the sun made them look like they were rippling.

“Really?” Paz asked, “You've been everywhere.”

“For work,” Din huffed, “Can't say I've ever actually taken time to, well, do this.”

“Why not?” Paz asked, “You've been everywhere and really only worked?”

“Didn't have the time,” Din let his shoulders fall back a little so his neck was under water as well, “Didn't let myself have the time.”

“We lived well,” Paz scooted closer to the river banks, “With what you brought home, I mean.”

“Good,” Din closed his eyes, “That's all I wanted.”

“Do you have any idea how selfless you are?” Paz asked, “It's astounding.”

“I can be selfish,” Din wasn't entirely sure why he was trying to assert that, but Cobb chuckled, a deep sound, and stared at Din with a grin that sent shivers down Din's spine.

“And yet time after time you choose not to be,” Paz splashed water in Din's general direction.

“Hmn,” Din hummed and dunked his head under water for a few seconds. When he resurfaced, he noted, “Man that's a weird sensation.”

Cobb tried it and came back up looking _wild._

“A lifetime of sand,” he laughed, “It feels like an apology from the universe for so much fucking sand.”

“I'm glad the universe plopped you in the sand,” Din told him, “for entirely selfish reasons.”

“Not to point out the obvious,” Paz had no desire to stick his head under water, “but what are we doing for food?”

“Well,” Din shifted so he was on his knees but still under water, “once we're ready to get back on land, we scout for good places to forage and set traps, and then we wait.”

“Sounds like you've done this before,” Cobb remarked.

“More times than I care to count,” Din huffed, “but this time it's not an urgent thing.”

“I could stay here all day,” Cobb said, “Just letting the water flow like this.”

“No towns or encampments for _days_ of walking,” Paz added, “If there's anywhere we can do whatever a vacation is supposed to do, it's here.”

“Lot harder to go back to work when work isn't in front of you,” Din agreed, “I hope Peli and the Armorer find some peace, too.”

“I wonder what peace is to them,” Cobb mused.

“Probably wild,” Paz guessed, “Like, given the chance to shake everything related to duty and work and social structure, they're just going to go completely wild.”

“Lothal's Capital City has no idea what's coming for it,” Din chuckled, “We're going to get back and the ship's going to have been traded in or something and they're going to have new identities, but they're just going to tell us something like _things got a little out of hand_ before they ask what we did.”

“I can see it,” Cobb leaned back and let his shoulders sort of float there while he was still anchored to the river bed.

“I,” Paz sighed, “Yep. Okay, yeah, I see how long-term bets get started.”

“I doubt it'll take twenty years for those two to cause some sort of chaos that can't be undone,” Din pointed out.

“Twenty years?” Cobb asked, “The covert was really betting on you two's relationship status for twenty years?”

“There's not a lot to do in the sewers,” Paz told him, “besides spar, fight, and talk about each other.”

“It's good to be outside,” Din shifted the conversation, “Just. Outside. Sun and wind and water and trees and no fear of Imps.”

“Small fear of Imps,” Paz corrected. It wasn't a fear that they could afford to put completely to rest.

“Sun and wind and water and trees and a small eternal fear of Imps,” Din amended.

Paz splashed Din and muttered, _“Smartass,”_ and Din splashed back, Cobb caught in the crossfire.

Cobb tried to splash both of them and wound up creating a wall of water that got him more than them.

Paz laughed and moved closer and felt like he was young again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to let them just have FUN for once like seriously after everything they deserve it ~~and also the rest of the fic is going to happen~~.


	71. Maybe Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peli wants to see if there's anything left of her shop despite how long it's been; the Armorer goes with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideas of what a vacation means may vary.

There was one certainty in the Armorer's universe at this point – just one, the rest had either been ripped from her or misplaced in the series of fallouts that now acted as anchor points to her past – and it was that, if Peli was nowhere else to be found, check the roof.

“Why rooftops?” she asked once she was at the point all she had to do was pull herself up the rest of the way to get a foot on the roof.

“Why not?” Peli was staring at the sky, “Everything alright?”

“That's a tricky question,” the Armorer snorted as she started crossing the roof.

“Okay, fair point,” Peli sighed.

“Something's weighing your mind down,” it was meant to be an observation but it had traces of accusation to it nonetheless.

“Give me a few and I'll shake it,” Peli started to pull herself to her feet.

“You can stay down,” the Armorer told her, “And if you're sure.”

“What good would it do to hang onto it?” Peli asked.

“Depends on what it is,” the Armorer nudged Peli's shoulder with the toe of her boot and then laid down next to her.

Peli made a frustrated sound but said, “I wonder, sometimes, what's taken the place of my garage.”

“That would weigh anyone's mind down,” the Armorer rolled to her side to face Peli, “We could go, if you think it would help.”

Peli was quiet for long enough that the Armorer wasn't sure if she should have suggested that at all. The Armorer let the uneasy silence settle in; there was no need to kill it just because she'd been out of line.

“What good would it do?” Peli asked, “That's a lot of fuel for something that's gone.”

“If it would unburden your mind,” the Armorer tried to pick her words carefully, “the fuel required would be a small price for it.”

“And if it doesn't?” Peli finally moved her head to look at the Armorer.

“If this was anyone else in your place right now,” the Armorer asked her, “what would you tell them?”

“That we had to try,” Peli lowered her eyes, “That by not trying we were giving up, and that's path you don't typically come back from once you start on it.”

The Armorer made a soft sound and reached out to put an Arm over Peli, who shifted a little bit closer to her.

“Don't you dare give up on yourself, Peli,” the Armorer told her.

“When do you want to leave for Tatooine?” Peli asked.

“I'm ready now if now's good for you,” the Armorer told her.

“Let's get some water skins first,” Peli suggested, “I have a feeling we're going to do more than stop at the garage.”

The Armorer made a sound caught between a hum and resignation as she stood up and then helped Peli to her feet.

–

Nati all but hit the ground running.

Parking anywhere _near_ the city was a _nightmare_ and like, seriously, what kind of planning committee sees a city growing as fast as this one clearly had – she'd seen such a mix of architecture flying over it that there was no way it had all been built even _around_ the same time – and decided, oh, no, we couldn't _possibly_ need more parking. Or any oversight on the existing parking. Or a centralized communications hub _specifically for incoming people not delivering cargo!?_

She may have spent too long circling the city waiting for someone to tell her where an open parking bay had been. Just. Just maybe.

Anyway.

She wasn't here to try to fix the parking situation – though may whatever higher powers there were take some small amount of mercy on that poor fuck – and focusing on it now that she was on the ground wasn't going to do her any good.

A large, low-flying ship caught her attention; she'd seen that ship, she _**knew**_ that ship it was -

“Oh damnit,” she screamed at the sky, “You seriously mean I missed them because _nobody_ in this city knows how to run a fucking parking operation!?”

Not terribly far from her, someone laughed.

Nati growled and got to work; with any luck, they'd cross paths before she left. She'd been tracking her current bounty for _planets_ now and was expected to drop it directly to the contract's originator for payment instead of brokering their return through the Guild.

Whoever this bastard was knew their way around and was _sneaky._

She wondered how many other hunters were here in the city with her.

“Come back soon,” she said to the sky before she checked her fob and took off at a run, “A familiar face would be nice about now.”

–

She hadn't ran to tell him that there were new arrivals on the planet which he had previously specified as _of high interest,_ but only because some bastard who thought himself worthy of being in the new courts of Tatooine was currently holding audience with him.

At least, _they_ saw themselves as holding an audience with the new holder of the throne; Boba was...bored with them and everyone like them, really.

Still, appearances needed to be kept and a slaughter of all those who believed holding power and having power were one in the same wasn't their best option.

At least, not yet.

“Sir,” Fennec knew she was interrupting but she didn't care.

Boba's attention flickered to her for a moment before it settled back to the small group standing in front of him.

“Come back in three days,” Boba told them, “and you will have the boundaries drawn for your solar farm.”

They seemed ready to want to argue, but one of them – not the leader but apparently the smartest one of them – cleared her throat and said, “Thank you, my lord,” with a bow before hauling her companions off.

They waited in almost-silence, Fennec and Boba, as their _guests_ cleared out and then the ones Boba kept around him when Fennec was elsewhere cleared out, and then Fennec did a room sweep that Boba followed up on before he said, “Who is it?”

“The mechanic and the Armorer,” Boba told him.

“Just them?” Boba was already on his feet and putting his helmet on in the same movement.

“Seems it,” Fennec confirmed, “At the very least, it's just the two of them that came off their ship.

“Same ship they left on?” Boba asked.

“Yes, sir,” Fennec confirmed as they started walking towards their fastest speeder, “They seem to be headed towards...what used to be the garage.”

“I'm only surprised they took so long to return,” Boba grumbled.

“I'm sure you have more questions than I do,” Fennec told him as she climbed on the speeder and started the thing

“What have I told you about making assumptions about what I'm thinking?” Boba asked.

“To keep it in my head unless I'm right,” Fennec tried not to smirk and almost succeeded. 

–

Peli stood in front of where she was sure her garage used to be.

“It's just,” her shoulders dropped, “Nothing.”

Nothing indeed; there was no structure remaining, no garage, no attached house that Peli had lived in for decades. Despite the amount of people walking around, making their way through Mos Eisley, Peli felt alone, invisible. 

It was like she'd never been there at all.

Next to her, in full Armor, the Armorer stood so still she might as well have been a statue or a droid in waiting. Wherever she was, mentally, it wasn't with Peli.

“Did I not mean anything?” Peli walked into the void what was once her home, “Was the fact I was here inconsequential?” she kicked at the sand, “There's not even another _garage_ in its place! With all the people in and out, all the ships, why didn't someone at least take the bones and make...another stupid garage?”

She screamed and nobody seemed to notice.

She sank to her knees with a sob and the Armorer was suddenly _there,_ kneeling in front of her, both of Peli's hands in hers.

“Don't you dare give up on yourself,” the Armorer repeated, “There hasn't been a moment in your life where you haven't mattered, Peli Motto, don't you _dare_ start rewriting your own history.”

Peli opened her mouth to say something bu before words could form, the Armorer continued, “Don't make my mistakes, Peli.”

Another sob escaped Peli and the Armorer coaxed Peli forward, Peli's head making a small _thunk_ against her breastplate but Peli seemed to not notice.

–

“I'm interrupting something,” Fennec said as she shut the speeder off.

“Better you than me,” Boba told her. She grumbled but got off the speeder.

She walked over to them, the mechanic and the Armorer, as quietly as she could. Even so, the Armorer heard her, looked up, a _hate_ and _fury_ so intense her helmet did nothing to hide them.

“Stay away from her,” the Armorer's voice had none of the control it had the last time they'd met; whatever had happened in the months in-between then and how had undone a lifetime of however she had refined whatever she called the thing that masked her loss of identity in the face of sorrow and failure.

Fennec took an oversized step towards them.

The Armorer only gave a small moment's hesitancy where she muttered something that sounded like _sorry,_ before she was on her feet, before she put herself between Fennec and the mechanic.

“Don't you touch her,” the Armorer _growled_. She'd taken a fighter's stance and Fennec doubted she'd even realized it.

“Fennec!” Boba called from the speeder, much louder than he'd needed to, “You realize this is why I don't let you in the room when I'm negotiating, right?” 

“I thought it was because I shot that Hutt,” Fennec called back.

“No that was just confirmation I'd made the right decision,” Boba told them more than her, “Now are you going to invite them back to the Palace for drinks or are you going to keep provoking the one person who could beat you in a fight?”

“Well if those are my only two choices the drinks sound like the better option,” Fennec said it like she'd just made the decision. She turned her attention to the Armorer and the mechanic, “Drinks?”

“Sounds like a horrible idea,” the mechanic sniffed as she said it, “but it's been a long time since I was the one who made the decision to follow through on a horrible idea, so! Drinks it is.”

The Armorer turned back to the mechanic and steadied her as she got to her feet.

When they turned around, the mechanic looked at her with a _pity_ that made the hate and fury the Armorer held about her very being seem like a welcoming thing.

Drinks couldn't happen fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Results may also vary.


	72. A Smart Mechanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a conversation to be had, and questions to be asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rule one of _The Subtle_ : Assume Peli's in charge.

Boba lead them through the main entrance of the Palace, then through what was, presumably, the throne room, then down some narrow stairs and a very poorly-lit hallway that turned into stairs that were, somehow, even more narrow and the following hallway not only more poorly lit but also _damp._

They eventually came to a bright, well-lit room that was almost impossibly clean despite – or perhaps _in spite of_ – the rest of the place.

There were low tables and what were probably meant to be chairs but looked like oversized cushions with partial backs. The lights were fire – actual fire – and lent a smokey smell to the place. The Armorer let turned her helmet's filters down enough to let the rest of the room's smell in. Spices and smoke and something that might have been far-from-cheap alcohol spilled a day or two ago, cleaned up but not gone entirely.

“Escape room or something?” Peli asked.

“If you're talking about escaping everyday life,” Boba tapped on a wall a few times and it revealed a small vault. He put his hand to the vault door and the way he winced before he took his hand away and the door seemed to dissolve instead of open was almost unnoticeable, even with her helmet's alerts, “then yes, it's an escape room.”

“Biosecurity?” the Armorer asked.

“If your next question is about how secure it is when there might still be clones alive out there,” Boba warned her, “I'll gut you where you stand, armor and all.”

“Is that what it feels like?” the Armorer asked Peli, who nodded. “I am so sorry.”

“Long forgiven,” Peli assured her.

Boba made a sound that wasn't friendly but he still brought four glasses, all pinched together with one hand, a decanter of something amber in the other that caught the fire light at so many different angles that, were the fires any brighter, might have doubled as a scope blinder.

“So,” Fennec knelt down at one of the tables, on one of the probably, seats, “what brings you two back to Tatooine?”

“Do I need a reason to come back home?” Peli asked.

“When it burned down so long ago it's been cleared,” Fennec took the glasses from Boba and set one at each place at the table, “yes. Generally.”

They were expected to sit one on each side of the table, based on glass placements. Peli made an unhappy sound but sat down, one leg crossed over the other, to Fennec's left. The Armorer sat next to Peli, leaving the last seat for Boba, who sat once he seemed assured that everyone else was settled.

“I've been busy,” Peli's hands stayed folded in her lap, “Little hard to come home and see how much I have left of my life to mourn when you're busy, you know?” 

“Do you know who hit your shop?” Boba asked as he filled Fennec's glass.

“No idea,” Peli started picking at the hem of her shirt, “It happened while I was in Mos Pelgo.”

“Freetown,” Boba corrected her, “It's called Freetown.”

Peli blinked a few times, confused. “I thought-”

“To outsiders, maybe,” Fennec told her, “But to the people who call it home, it's Freetown.”

“Funny,” Peli looked at Boba as she said it instead of Fennec, “I haven't heard that one before.”

“Unsurprising,” Boba's entire affect was flat, “When was the last time Cobb mentioned it?”

“Not terribly,” Peli's eyes were narrowed.

“Were you outside?” Boba asked as Fennec handed him Peli's glass.

“We were,” Peli started saying something else entirely but stopped and shifted thoughts based on the tone change, “Yes. We were outside.”

“Never know who's listening,” Fennec said as she handed Peli back her glass, “Even if you think you're alone.”

“Long-range eavesdropping has been a risk for more generations than I could probably count,” Peli said with a huff, “Makes sense, though.”

Boba and Fennec both looked at Peli like she'd just said something unexpected.

“Well if you don't know why Cobb would be overly cautious about saying the name of the place I'm not going to be the one to tell you,” Peli crossed her arms.

“I like this one,” Fennec purred, but she looked at the Armorer when she said it.

“Smarter than you look,” Boba told Peli.

“Yeah, well,” Peli said as she took a sip of whatever was in her glass, “Nobody likes a smart mechanic.”

It was the Armorer's turn to stare at Peli.

“So why now?” Boba asked as he took the Armorer's glass.

“Why not now?” Peli asked, “Is this a bad time to come to Tatooine or something?”

“Was there ever a good time?” Fennec asked.

“Oi!” Peli drew back affronted, “This is my home planet!”

“Hardly your fault,” Fennec's smile was a cruel one, “Why now?”

“There was time,” Peli put her glass back down, “Who hit my garage?”

“What makes you think we know?” Fennec asked.

“One,” Peli held up one finger, “You asked _do you know_ who hit your shop, not _who hit your shop_ or _Any idea who hit your shop._ Both of you only use partial sentences when you don't know something,” Peli took a breath and held up a second finger, “Two, She asked the first time but you asked the second, which means you'd planned to ask. Three,” she held up a third finger, “Judging by how quickly you got to where my garage used to be, you've been monitoring the place for when I came back. Four,” she held up five fingers but quickly retracted her thumb, “Yeah, four, right. Four! Nothing in Mos Eisley is ever cleared away. It's rebuilt and, if necessary, repurposed, but building foundations are incredibly difficult to set here on Tatooine and one would never just be _wiped away_ like that unless it was for a damned good reason and so,” she took a deep breath, “I think I should be the one asking you,” Peli slammed one hand down on the table, open-palmed, “Who. Burned. Down. My. Life?”

Boba and Fennec were both staring, jaws slack and eyes wide. Peli's chest was heaving, almost like it might be in a panic but there was too much _anger_ for panic to find any room in her.

“Would you like to meet him?” Fennec was the first to recover, “I have to warn you though, we'd have to dig him out first.”

“Was killing him worth it, then?” Peli scoffed, “Was whatever _justice_ you thought you were enacting worth it?”

“Honestly, no,” Fennec said as she took a sip of her drink, “No coward who ransacks a shop and burns it down when he doesn't find what he came for is worth much of anything.”

“So you found the guy, presumably after we left the planet,” Peli was shaking but her words were steady, “Killed him in ways that ensured you had all the information you wanted – all the information you thought you needed – and then removed what was left, foundation included.”

“I really do like this one,” Fennec reached over and put her hand down in front of Peli.

Next to Peli, the Armorer was so still it felt so _wrong._

“But what I'm missing,” Peli took her hand off the table and put it in her lap, “is why? Why did you monitor the place it used to be? And more than that, why did you...” her words dropped off, “Oh, no wait, let me guess before you tell me,” she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “Actually, no, you tell me first.”

“Changed your mind?” Fennec asked.

“Told you plenty already,” Peli tilted her head to the side and looked at Fennec.

Boba sighed and everyone's attention snapped to him.

“You left with someone rather important,” Boba told her, “and did not return with him.”

“Ask,” Peli leaned forward, “or stop wasting my time.”

“Armorer,” Fennec sounded amused, “what about your time?”

“I have as much time as Peli does,” the Armorer's voice was clear, crisp, unbothered.

“Where is he?” Boba asked.

“No idea,” Peli told him.

“You're bluffing,” Fennec accused. Peli laughed, but the sound was tight, almost hysterical.

“She isn't,” Boba said, “How'd you lose him.”

“By choice,” Peli's face twitched, “Are we done here?”

“No,” Fennec told her. 

Peli made a frustrated noise and leaned her elbows on the table, hands up around her face and loosely clasped together.

They sat there, the four of them, in an uneasy silence until the ceiling started to vibrate.

The Armorer and Fennec were on their feet instantly, a lifetime of being the first one ready to run showing itself.

Boba sighed.

“I won't be long,” he told them, “Fennec?” Fennec nodded and followed Boba out.

Once they were gone, Peli deflated, head and shoulders down and arms across the table.

Next to her, the Armorer put her hand on the table and waited for Peli to do something, say something, anything, really.

“Why aren't you saying anything?” Peli asked.

“I-” the Armorer started saying, “No, it's just excuses.”

“Sorry,” Peli looked at her and just looked sad, “I just,” she sniffed, “Sorry.”

“What was your other question going to be?” the Armorer asked, “Something more than why they were monitoring the place.”

“Huh?” Peli closed her eyes, “Oh! Oh, yes! Why were they monitoring the place and not the ports? The ports have countless eyes on them, but a place that doesn't exist any more?”

“If I had to guess,” the Armorer drummed her fingers on the table, “whatever they're playing it, it's only the two of them involved.”

“I didn't know you did that,” Peli told her.

“Did what?” the Armorer stopped drumming.

“You didn't have to stop,” Peli told her, “I just didn't realize you did it.”

“I didn't realize I was doing it,” the Armorer sighed, “I don't like this.

Peli made a soft noise and reached out to put her hand over the Armorer's.

“I don't, either,” Peli looked at the Armorer.

“I know what I do like, though,” the Armorer rotated her hand so it was holding Peli's.

“Oh?” Peli managed a small, hopeful smile.

“A smart mechanic,” the Armorer squeezed her hand.

–

It was too serene when they made it back downstairs. Peli and the Armorer had barely touched their drinks while they'd been upstairs, but neither had they gotten up or checked out the room; Fennec would have been notified if they had, and she would have notified Boba.

“Well you didn't take long at all,” the Armorer told them.

Boba and Fennec sat back down and exchanged a quick _what changed?_ look before turning their attentions on the one they say across from.

“Indeed,” Boba said, “Yes, so, where were we?”

“I think we were taking a long way around,” the Armorer tilted her head to the side, “but were ultimately going to arrive at _Why is it only you two know about monitoring where her garage used to be?_ ”

“So it seems,” Boba almost sounded impressed, “Thousands of bounty hunters come through here every year, and yet you left with the one who seems to have taken up a habit of doing impossible things like they were simple tasks or simple barriers to break through,” he paused, “And, despite everything, the only trace you left behind was the purchase of a ship in the name of someone who'd just lost her garage.”

“It really is my ship!” Peli exclaimed.

“You're the only one without a criminal record,” the Armorer said as if it was an side.

Peli's face went through a host of emotions in rapidfire.

“That doesn't answer the question, though,” Peli said after she cleared her throat.

Boba and Fennec did this thing where they didn't look at each other but tried to have a silent conversation anyway. Peli bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at how poorly the effort was going.

“If you are concerned he if a threat to your rule,” the Armorer offered them something, “your concern is unwarranted.”

“And what of threats to _his_ rule?” Boba asked.

“I think,” Peli looked between Boba and Fennec, “you will not find a more _loved_ leader no matter how far you look.”

“Or one as well-protected,” the Armorer said, a fond thing.

Boba grunted, a frustrated sound, and Peli felt like she'd won something.

–

“I never thought we'd get out of there,” Peli mumbled as she started to power up her ship, “Figuratively. And literally, but only at one or two moments.”

“That was,” the Armorer paused to try to find the right word, “stressful.”

“You can say that again,” Peli agreed, “It was...also just downright weird.”

“I've never heard you talk like that,” the Armorer remarked.

“What, like I'm smart?” Peli asked.

“No,” the Armorer sounded affronted, “like you're _in charge._ ”

“Usually don't have to,” Peli said right as the engine flared to life, “Oh good girl! Come on, let's get off this planet.”

“Peli,” the Armorer said quietly – so quietly Peli stopped pressing buttons.

“What's wrong?” Peli asked.

“This is your home,” the Armorer struggled to find the words.

“Yeah,” Peli started pressing buttons again, slower this time, “It is. But it's been all I've known until recently. I lived here because I had to, and now that home's...home's really gone...”

“Different applications,” the Armorer took her helmet off, “same base idea. I just _left you on your own_ for the bulk of that conversation.”

“I wasn't going to ask,” Peli said as the ship jolted both of them with liftoff, “either for you to jump in or about the helmet.”

“It,” the Armorer sighed and leaned back in the co-pilot's seat, “The world without it, it's,” she growled a little and tried for a third time, “I don't know.”

“May I guess?” Peli asked.

“You may,” the Armorer told her.

“It seems like it's a part reconciling who you've been for a long time with who you're becoming,” Peli punched in the coordinates for Lothal, “being outside the ship without your helmet, I mean.”

“It would make sense,” the Armorer looked down.

“As much as I enjoy you,” Peli stood up to finish programming their flight, “if the only reason I enjoy you is because you're pretty I wouldn't have asked you to come with me,” she paused, “Okay, that didn't quite come across the way I'd intended it to.”

“The sentiment's clear,” the Armorer said with a gentle laugh.

Peli sat back down and reached out to grab the Armorer's hand.

“Thank you,” the Armorer told her, “for being patient.”

“Least I can do,” Peli grinned, “So. Tatooine was a bit of a bust.”

“We did learn Boba has more than a passing interest in Din,” the Armorer pointed out.

“And that he only trusts Fennec,” Peli added.

“I wonder what we could learn if we were actually _trying_ to learn things,” the Armorer mused.

“We should find out,” Peli decided.

“Horrible idea,” the Armorer told her, “Where do we start?”

“Well,” Peli put her feet on the dashboard, “if it isn't asking too much, with facing what we're both trying to avoid right now.”

“I let you down,” the Armorer bit her lip and looked down at her feet.

“No you didn't,” Peli put her feet back on the floor and turned to face the Armorer, “Why do you think that?”

“You were _mourning_ and I just froze,” the Armorer steeled herself and looked at Peli, “You finally had the room to start to process your loss and I left you to your own devices.”

“Hey,” Peli tugged at her hand, “No, you really didn't. I seem to remember you being very fast about standing between me and Fennec.”

“I would have killed her if she'd tried to grab you,” the Armorer said aloud.

“See?” Peli's smile was so honest that it hurt a little, “And you saw me like nobody sees me and didn't run off.”

“What, brilliant?” the Armorer asked, “Half the universe has seen you brilliant at this point, cyare.”

“Cyare?” Peli asked, “And no, not like...not like that.”

“Peli,” the Armorer sighed and turned to face Peli at last, “you were brilliant and righteous and fearless and _smart._ ”

“Good thing you like smart mechanics,” Peli tried to joke.

“Good thing a smart mechanic seems determined to see the best in me,” the Armorer covered Peli's hand with her other hand.

“I try to see you where you are,” Peli told her, “Not where you've been or might have been or might be going.”

“I'm glad you're here,” the Armorer told her.

“And I'm glad you're here,” Peli put her other hand over one of the Armorer's, “Cyare?”

“It has a direct translation but,” the Armorer paused, just briefly, “It's better shown, I think.”

“Show me?” Peli asked.

The Armorer leaned forward and closed her eyes and kissed Peli, ever so gently, soft lips on chapped ones. She could feel Peli's smile take shape and her heart _soared._

“Cyare,” Peli said against her lips and touched their foreheads together, breaking the kiss but then she said, “I lost everything I had, yes, and there is no getting any of that back,” she took a deep breath, “but it's...almost a relief, knowing there's no going back.”

“Oh?” the Armorer asked.

“I won't have to reconcile who I thought I was with whoever I'm going to be at the end of charting the universe as shaped by Din,” Peli explained, “I don't think I'd really know how to go back to the same garage in the same city I'd spent my entire life in and just, what, spend it alone, spend it with my head down, back to being too scared to leave the city walls?”

“You were scared to leave the city walls?” the Armorer interrupted.

“Well, yeah,” a small, disbelieving laugh escaped Peli, “If the exposure didn't kill you, you still had the reset of the desert to contend with.”

“Had me fooled,” the Armorer said.

“Yeah, well,” Peli squeezed her hands, “seems we both seem to be orbiting a pretty impossible man. Maybe it's rubbing off on me.” 

The Armorer snorted and squeezed back.

“Cyare,” Peli said the word like she was tasting it.

“Cyare,” the Armorer said it like almost all the air had been stolen from her lungs.

Where she was headed, in the non-literal sense, Peli had no idea. But where she was now?

She was quite fond of where she'd found herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a heavy one.
> 
> Can I make it up to y'all next chapter by finally letting Din and Cobb take Paz apart in the most delicious ways possible like I've been teasing for _*checks watch*_ about half the story now?


	73. Lucky Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paz wants, almost above all else, to be selfish without drowning in guilt for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like, after over 35 chapters of off-and-on hinting at this, I've set the bar incredibly high for myself on this one.

None of Paz's life had been planned. Accepted, for a long time, then welcomed, even after a while, at times embraced, even, but planned?

Planning was an art and Paz had never considered himself an artist.

And so, when Din grabbed him by the wrist with a small laugh and hauled him from the river's edge to the ship, Paz was more than willing to play whatever part in Din's plan he needed to.

Cobb was already there, just inside the ship, waiting for them, the inordinate amount of blankets they'd hauled from the main ship laid out on the floor and Paz felt his breath hitch in his chest.

“Paz?” Cobb asked.

“Yes,” Paz's mouth felt dry, “Please, yes.”

It was Cobb's turn to laugh as he grabbed Paz's other wrist and he and Din eased Paz onto his back. 

Din was on his knees first, next to Paz, then Cobb was on his other side, also kneeling, then their hands were all over Paz, stripping his clothes and _scratching_ and wandering. Paz closed his eyes and arched his back, desperate to feel more, feel sooner. He reached out and tried to find them, tried to grasp Din or Cobb or maybe Din _and_ Cobb, that would be fantastic.

Hands were off him and he opened his eyes and Cobb and Din were frantic, shedding their own clothes while trying to sled disrobe the other, a visual representation of chaos that Paz reveled in.

Din grinned – Paz knew that grin, knew what it meant – and kissed Cobb, who reacted as if he'd just been _shocked,_ loud and off-kilter for a moment before he started kissing back and the two of them shifted from chaos to _fire_ – more alive, more _dangerous_ – and Paz felt like he could spend the rest of his life just watching them kiss.

When the kiss was broken apart, they both panted for air like they'd just been running and Paz was _smiling_ , his own cock in his hand, stroking slowly, the rest of his body _relaxed._

“Impatient,” Cobb teased.

“Stunning,” Paz wasn't sure why he'd selected that word, but he wasn't sure how many words he knew anymore.

“Let me,” Din told him and Paz raised both his hands over his head, blanket permission for Din to take whatever he wanted, a surrender Paz craved but had no idea how to ask for the monumental feelings behind it to be recognized.

Din's hand gripped Paz's shaft and Paz hissed and whimpered and closed his eyes – the world too bring all the sudden – and let himself make _noise_ as Din stroked him slowly.

Paz heard Cobb get up, walk away a few steps, rustle through one of the drawers, and then return. A tell-tale click and hiss of a tube being opened and then squeezed was all the heads up Paz had before Din switched hands and started stroking faster, smoother, lubricant cold but warming quickly.

“Din,” Paz managed.

“Yes cyare?” Din purred and Paz's entire lexicon failed him and Din _did something_ with his wrist and Paz felt himself shout and his back arched and he tried to grab Din's hand to speed things up but Din swatted Paz's hand away. “Do that again and I _will_ cuff you,” Din warned.

Paz suddenly wanted nothing more than _exactly that_ so he reached down again, grinning, and Din laughed and said, “Cobb, do you mind?”

“Where?” Cobb asked.

“Uhm,” Din paused for a second, eyes closed and brows furrowed, “They're. Uhm. Fuck-”

Cobb bit back a laugh and Din chuckled and Paz's brain supplied, _No, the cuffs are not currently anywhere near this fuck,_ before Paz managed a small laugh.

“Shelf just by the ramp, second to top, should be a bunch of them in the gray crate,” Din told him, “Might want to wipe them down a bit at least.”

“I'll take care of them,” Cobb said as he rose to his feet, “and then we'll take care of him.”

Paz whimpered and Din's clean hand brushed the back of his index and middle fingers down the side of his face from temple to jaw. Paz tilted his head, offered Din more skin, and Din continued downward, fingers running down Paz's neck then back up his neck, up his cheek and threaded through his hair and _pulled_ all the while Din's other hand was still stroking him slowly.

“Please,” Paz begged Din.

“Hang on,” Din muttered, “Cobb, you good?”

“Got 'em,” Cobb said, “I can-”

“Yeah,” Din breathed, “Paz, Cobb's going to cuff you, but if at _any_ point you want or need them off, just say _**off,**_ alright?”

“Won't,” Paz told him.

“Paz please,” Din stilled, “I need you to know you're still in control.”

“Fine,” Paz huffed, “Off's the word,” he sighed, then, “thank you.”

“Always,” Din promised him. Cobb cleared his throat and Din said, “You're welcome.”

“Alright,” Cobb's voice was right above Paz's head, “just,” he clicked the cuffs on, “there we go.”

Paz pulled on instinct, tested the strength of the cuffs, and Cobb tugged at them, too, pressed Paz's wrists against the floor and the desire that flooded Paz seemed to try to vent itself in the form of a moan.

“Good man,” Din told him and then pulled his hair and then it was Cobb's hand on Paz's cock – the man moved like a ghost when he wanted to – using the lube Din left behind, the friction more noticeable, creating a burn just barely on the edges of Paz's awareness. 

“Tell us what you want, Paz,” Cobb encouraged him, and those words, that _us_ , that tugged at something tightly wound within Paz that he had been carrying for so long he'd almost forgotten it was not meant to be a part of him.

“Want,” Paz struggled with the word, “Want-I want-”

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Cobb asked him, “How irresistible?”

Cobb started stroking faster and Paz's whimpers became sharp, breathy things as a dim awareness that was close, a spike of _close_ and _need_ and more making their way out as a moan.

“Easy love,” Din seemed to be speaking to the both of them, “Is that what you want, Paz?”

Cobb's hand stayed and Paz tried to lower his hands but someone – probably Din – caught him by the cuffs and tugged his hands back over his head.

“Unfair,” Paz told him.

“Tell us what is fair, then,” Din's voice was smooth, a richness to it Paz was fairly sure he hadn't heard before, 

All Paz could do was whimper, words stuck in his lungs.

“Paz?” Cobb asked.

Checking. Cobb was checking. Checking on him. Cobb was checking on him.

“Good,” Paz told him, “'M good.”

Cobb made a sound that reminded Paz of _relief_.

“Good,” it was Din who spoke next, though. Cobb still had his hand around Paz's dick, still waiting to _hear what Paz wanted_.

“Want,” Paz tried again, “I just. I _want!_ ”

“Want you,” Cobb started stroking him again, “Want this.”

“Please,” Paz exhaled the word like it was the one trapping all his other ones, “Ruin me, please.”

“Ruin?” Cobb asked, voice tight and eyes wide and pupils blown.

“I want,” Paz tried to buck into Cobb's hand, tried to create some friction, any friction, “I want you to,” he stammered, words caught again.

Cobb tightened his grip just a tiny bit and pushed his hand as far down as he could, side of his hand pressing into Paz's pelvis and Paz hissed and started _begging_.

“Want you to make me beg,” Paz did not recognize the words but was so, so familiar with the sentiment, “Draw out my – _ah_ – drown out my senses, spread me thin and then take me apart and I want to scream and beg and I want you to lose your fear of hurting because _I want to hurt_ and I want to know that there are scars on my body that only exist because I am loved and I am wanted.”

Paz's voice was a wreck at the end, raw and unguarded and broken in all the ways Paz wanted to be.

“Which one of us?” Cobb's question felt like the moment before a storm broke open and there was nowhere to take shelter.

“Both,” was all Paz could say.

Cobb and Din both made a sound – different sounds, wildly different, sounds that tell people when someone's self-control has just snapped.

“Me first,” Cobb _growled_ and Paz whimpered. Cobb moved, straddled just below Paz's hips. Paz tried to lift his head to watch but didn't quite have the wherewithal to hold his head up. Din moved to sit behind Paz's head, shifted and nudge and shifted some more so that Paz's head was against Din's sternum and Paz's shoulders were more or less in Din's lap, arms as loose as they could be in front oh him.

Cobb took both their cocks in one hand, awkward, thumb at impossible angles. With his other hand, Cobb squeezed a little more lubricant directly onto both of their cocks, careful but still rushed and then started stroking them both with slow, intentional movements. Cobb's breath came as unsteady, shuddering things and so did Din's and Paz was pretty sure his own were, too.

“Lovely view,” Din's words were light but his tone sunk its claws into Paz's heart and threatened to never let go.

Paz dared it to, dared the tone, dared the _moment_ to leave its mark on him in ways time would not dare even try to strip from him.

Paz watched, eyes unfocused, as Cobb stroked them off, slowly, his attention entirely on Paz's cock, his own an afterthought.

Behind him, Din started massaging Paz's chest, hands deft and heavy. Paz groaned and pressed into Din, seeking _more_ and Cobb's hands were all over him all of the sudden, massaging just like Din's, over his thighs, his calves, his sides again while Din worked his chest and his shoulders and his neck. 

Every inch of Paz, every nerve, was _fire_ – not on fire, _was fire_ , the most primal life force seeped into his very being with the help of Din and Cobb, the help of the two people is life orbited, his anchor and his-

-what was Cobb?

_If Din was his anchor, what was Cobb?_

Cobb was on him again, tapping his legs until they were spread far enough that Cobb could settle between them. 

“Perfect, Paz,” Cobb murmured, “You're so fucking perfect, look at you.”

“Oh I'm looking,” Din's hands were both tangled in Paz's hair, pulling ever so slightly, a constant tension that Paz never wanted to lose.

Cobb grabbed the lube again and squeezed some into his hand and made a fist, tried to make it less cold before he smeared it between Paz's ass cheeks and started working Paz open. Paz gasped and pressed against Cobb's finger.

“So fucking perfect,” Cobb muttered, “Look at you, Paz, so fucking perfect.”

“Look at both of you,” Din's chest rumbled as he spoke, “I'm so fucking spoiled.”

Cobb started to work a second finger into Paz and Paz _keened_ and Din pulled at his hair a bit harder and Cobb look just beyond Paz and jerked his head to the side in a question. Whatever the question, Din must have given an affirmative because they flipped Paz over, gently, almost, hands rough and motions jerky. Paz steadied himself on his elbows and Cobb hauled him up by his hips and started working him open again, drawing a new litany of sounds from him.

“Still spoiled,” Din's hands were in Paz's hair again but this time Din was on his knees in front of Paz, legs spread just enough so he wasn't kneeling on Paz's arms. Paz looked up and found Din's cock right in front of him.

“Din,” Paz's voice was more of a rasp, “may I?”

“Hmn?” Din pulled Paz's hair to force Paz to make eye contact with him and Paz _gasped_.

“Such your cock?” Paz tried again and, almost blessedly, Din did not make him form an entire sentence in one go, just nodded and gave a breathless hiss of a _yes_ and Paz swallowed as much as he could and Din _groaned_ and Paz started sucking while Cobb withdrew his fingers and Paz whimpered a little bit but then Cobb was _inside him_ , fucking him without mercy, _using_ Paz for his own pleasure, telling Paz over and over how beautiful he was, how perfect, how fantastic, all in little half-words that shattered over Paz.

“Fuck, Paz, your tongue,” Din's ability to still form thoughts was horribly unfair, _**“Fuck.”**_

“It's amazing what his mouth can do,” Cobb also managed an entire thought, “but god, Paz, your _ass_.”

“Sounds like you might lose yourself in there,” Din teased.

“Wouldn't complain,” Cobb managed to say and he grabbed Paz's hips and _gripped_ and dug his nails in like he wanted to leave claw marks behind, wanted to etch the shape of his hands into Paz's skin so he'd know exactly where to grip next time.

“Fuck,” Din moaned, “Fuck, Paz, Paz, _PAZ!_ ” His name had become a warning cry and he gave the warning no heed and Din came, hard, hips spasming as what was left of Paz's coherency had him breathing in and out his nose as Din slowly sank backwards, chest heaving and hands shaking, muttering to Paz about _that was fantastic_ and how he was _so perfect_ and _fuck, Paz, so fucking perfect, fuck_ and his hands found their way to Paz's face, still shaking.

“I'm a lucky bastard,” Cobb murmured, “To have the two of you like this? So beautiful so fucking beautiful,” he kept murmuring, thought giving way and half-formed but entirely honest praises filling up the space left in thought's wake.

Cobb leaned over to reach around and grab Paz's cock again, stroking it with short, frenzied strokes and Paz loosed a shout _bucked back_ , desperate to see if Cobb could get any deeper inside him. Paz came, blindsided by the force of it, spilled all over Cobb's hand and the blankets and himself and Cobb _bit_ Paz's back as if that might serve as his anchor. 

Cobb reached forward with his, well, free- _er_ hand and wrapped hand and arm under Paz's chest and grabbed Paz's shoulder, a dual anchor that barely had time to settle in Paz's awareness before Cobb came with a _roar_ and Paz shuddered and whimpered as he felt Cobb _fill him_ , Cobb's breath hot on his skin, both their chests heaving.

Somewhere in the outermost areas of his awareness, Paz felt Din removing the cuffs and easing Paz down so that he was laying on his stomach.

“Good, good,” Din's voice was a balm to all the hurts of Paz's past, “How are you feeling, cyare?”

Paz whimpered and flashed a thumbs up well outside Din's field of vision.

Cobb half-collapsed, half-lowered himself onto Paz, his face wind up next to Paz's ear. Din laid on his side next to them, one hand on Paz's face, stroking his cheek with his thumb, eyes closed, content, peaceful, even.

“So perfect,” Cobb's breath almost tickled, “Paz, so fucking perfect.”

They stayed like that, Cobb on Paz and Din pressed against the both of them, let the world settle back in their senses slowly.

Paz sighed, a _happy_ thing, and let his eyes close, too. Cobb shifted to nip the top of Paz's ear and Paz surprised himself with a little whimper.

“You like that?” Cobb asked.

“Mmhmm,” Paz hummed, “Yeah.”

Cobb nipped again and Din laughed when Paz rotated his head so Cobb could have easier access.

“You both spoil me,” Din told them.

“My anchors,” Paz said suddenly.

“Hmn?” Cobb almost asked a question but the meaning was there.

“Before Sorgan,” the words rushed out of Paz like they might disappear if he did not say them now, “you asked me what Din is to me, and I had an answer later and then _Sorgan_ happened and,” Paz took a deep breath, “My anchors, the both of you.”

Cobb leaned his head against Paz's as Din said, “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well,” Cobb tried not to think too hard on it, “Sorgan happened.”

They were silent again and Sorgan was a lifetime away, blessedly, and then Paz said, “My suns.”

Cobb made a little huffing sound and kissed Paz on the neck.

“More than anchors,” Paz kept talking, “My twin suns, bright and constant and always to return, no matter how dark.”

“Well,” Din said, “I have to say, I like you a lot more than Tatooine.”

“Have to say, I agree,” Cobb told him and the weight of what that meant _coming from Cobb_ hit Paz like a physical blow.

“And you call yourself lucky,” Paz suddenly wanted to hold Cobb, wanted to clutch the man against him, wanted to -

\- wanted to ask if he could do just that.

“Cobb,” Paz's tongue felt heavy, the asking still felt forbidden if by nothing else than his own shame he'd built up over the decades, “can I,” he swallowed, “Can I hold you?”

“Yes,” Cobb couldn't get the word out fast enough, couldn't slide to the side Din wasn't so Paz could find his way behind him and hold Cobb's body against his own, could press Cobb into him as if _Paz_ was the anchor and Cobb the ship just trying to survive storm-tossed waters.

Behind him, Din asked to join, was welcomed by the both of them, held the both of them tight, acted as the barrier between them and the rest of the universe.

It was all three of them, Paz thought, all three of them who were the lucky ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All said, this is probably the poorest pacing decision I've ever made; we've got a whole bunch about to unravel outside the vacations. I just refuse to push this back because then I might never have gotten to it and I've been promising this to someone for over a week now.


	74. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on Lothal, Peli and the Armorer hope they'll be able to make sense of what happened on Tatooine. After some take-away, though, naturally.
> 
> Meanwhile, Nati's running.
> 
> They run with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now back to your regularly scheduled chaos!

The trip back to Lothal was an uneventful one; they'd been struggling to process whatever the hell it was that happened on Tatooine. Theories were plentiful but answers were missing and neither the Armorer or Peli liked how _off_ the whole thing was.

Being back on Lothal was grounding in the way anything is that offers you a chance to orient yourself amidst the rest of your life.

“Do you think the city thinks we're moving in?” Peli asked as she shut off the engine.

“I don't think cities think,” the Armorer told her. Peli made an offended noise and swatter her arm and laughed. 

“It _is _nice the same spot was open, though,” Peli said, “Even if I'm not setting up shop again.”__

__“You say that now,” the Armorer sounded amused, her face concealed by her helmet again._ _

__Peli shrugged and started heading off the ship._ _

__“What now?” the Armorer called after her._ _

__“I'm thinking take-away,” Peli told her, “You coming?”_ _

__Take-away sounded brilliant._ _

__–_ _

__Nati was getting tired of Lothal._ _

__Well, okay, it wasn't _Lothal_ she'd tired of, but the amount of _running_ she seemed to be doing on the planet._ _

__The target she'd been chasing for planets had been a set-up, and this _particular_ running was _for her life,_ and, really, it was a fantastic motivator when it came to running without stopping._ _

__If she could get to her ship, if she could make it that far, if she could get the engines started and in the air before she found out what damage they – whoever they were – could do to a ship, she'd program her hyperdrive for literally anywhere and then maybe she could pause and figure out what was happening._ _

__The fact she'd already taken to calling them _they_ grated her nerves; who were these cowards who'd already carved a category of her own in her head? _ _

__Now was not the time for annoyance...which only served to annoy her further._ _

__She had ran right into the heart of the city, trusting the population density to give her move cover than abandoned alleyways and rooftops._ _

__People had their drawbacks, though, and never more than when there was a lot of them in one place. Nati had to push her way through the crowds. The closer she got to her ship, the fewer times she said things like, _coming through_ and _excuse me_ and the harder she elbowed people._ _

__It really said something about the planet, the fact _so many people_ could see someone covered head to toe in armor and not think anything of it._ _

__She groaned, a frustrated thing, and kept pushing._ _

__–_ _

__“So uh,” the Armorer grabbed Peli by the wrist and stared just off to Peli's left, “change of plans?”_ _

__“Huh?” Peli followed her line of sight, “Oh, shit, yeah, change of plans.”_ _

__–_ _

__Nati was close._ _

__So, so close, she could see the edge of the city and _just next to that_ was her ship._ _

__A blaster bolt grazed her left pauldron and she cursed, loud, startling someone nearby._ _

__“So a swear word scares you but a blaster bolt's fine?” Nati screamed as she kept running, “Go fuck yourself, seriously, might help!”_ _

__She stumbled and cursed some more – if nothing else it felt like catharsis – and righter her gate and kept running._ _

__A strangled cry not terribly far behind her almost – _Almost!_ – made her look behind her to see what was going on._ _

__The sound of a hammer hitting armor – not Beskar, but still armor – even closer _did_ make her turn around._ _

__“Keep going!” the Armorer told her, “Go!”_ _

__Nati heard herself make a strangled, terrified cry as she turned back towards her ship and willed her legs to go even faster._ _

__“Peli, the blaster,” the Armorer was saying._ _

__“Got it!” Peli sounded pleased with herself._ _

__“Great, now, come on!” the Armorer's voice sounded closer than when she told Peli to grab the blaster._ _

__“Hadn't considered we might still be running,” Peli's sarcasm made Nati laugh despite everything._ _

__“Less banter more run!” Nati told them._ _

__“Also hadn't considered that!” Peli was, apparently, not one to take direction to heart._ _

__They caught up with Nati, each flanking her._ _

__“So,” Peli said, “why are we running?”_ _

__“I am being shot at!” Nati couldn't believe this was a question._ _

__“Most people don't get shot at,” Peli pointed out, “and even fewer without some sort of precipitating event.”_ _

__“On the ship!” Nati told her, “Assuming you're coming at this point.”_ _

__“Well staying seems like a horrible idea,” Peli said, “Which one's yours?”_ _

__“The little one,” Nati said, “Two rows over, wings are different colors, can't miss it.”_ _

__They ran the rest of the way in silence._ _

__“Nati,” the Armorer said once they were on board and the ramp was closing behind them, “do you know how to use the guns?”_ _

__“Gun's a gun,” Nati shrugged, “Why?”_ _

__“You shoot and I can fly,” the Armorer suggested, “Peli, hyperdrive, cut us a path the hell away from here.”_ _

__“Sure,” Nati took off towards the gunner's little bubble._ _

__She hadn't actually used her ship's guns before – flying and shooting in this ship were mutually exclusive tasks – but, well, a gun _is_ a gun, and she was confident in her aim._ _

__As she settled into the bubble – she had to lie on her stomach and let her head and shoulders hang forward – she felt the ship roar to life, a much louder thing from here._ _

__“Maintenance next planet, I promise,” she said to her ship, “Just. Get us out of here alive. Can't maintain you if I'm dead.”_ _

__Whatever the Armorer was doing, she clearly knew how to fly; they were already off the ground and the ship did not rock as it turned on a point._ _

__The first ship to shoot at them was still on the ground; Nati did not shoot at that one in case she hit a different ship, or worse, a civilian, but the second one was in the air and _man_ they were going fast, so when she shot it down she did so without worrying it would fall on anyone._ _

__“Good shot, kid,” the Armorer's voice came over the internal comm._ _

__“We have a comm system?” Nati asked aloud, “I mean, thanks!”_ _

__“There's more coming,” the Armorer told her, “Can you see them?”_ _

__“Yep!” Nati exclaimed, “They won't know what hit them!”_ _

__Well, they _would_ , probably. Almost definitely. Given that she just shot down one of their co-conspirators, the odds were actually rather high that, if they lived long enough to follow the line of reason that the same thing that shot down the first ship also shot them down they would _absolutely_ know what hit them._ _

__“We can hear you thinking from up here,” it was Peli's voice this time._ _

__Nati thunked her helmet against the side of the bubble before she started firing._ _

__The second ship went down just like the first, but the third, forth, and fifth each evaded several shots before she hit them._ _

__The sixth, that one she only managed to graze the wing and while it _did_ go down like the others, there were going to be survivors, no question, which meant people who'd keep coming after her._ _

__After them, now, Peli and the Armorer also dragged into whatever unfortunate circumstances she'd found herself in._ _

__“Any more?” Nati called up to them._ _

__“Not in range,” the Armorer told her, “We're almost ready to make the jump.”_ _

__“Consider me...holding on for dear life,” she told them, then preempted, “What? There's no seat belt for gunners!”_ _

__“In five!” Peli started the countdown and Nati braced herself as much as she could._ _

__It was a much different experience, jumping to hyperdrive without looking in the same direction and while lying down. It felt like every last organ she had the current misfortune of possessing – which was all of the ones humans were supposed to, really – detached themselves from their moorings, spun around, and then reattached themselves in mostly the same positions._ _

__She exhaled, slowly, and then started heading towards the cockpit._ _

__“That was amazing,” she said as she entered the cockpit, “Your flying, not being shot at.”_ _

__“What happened?” the Armorer asked and she didn't sound disappointed or cross, just _worried.__ _

__“I walked right into a trap,” Nati dropped her shoulders, “I. I can see everything that happened clearly, but I can't quite explain it right now?”_ _

__The Armorer hummed, a thoughtful thing._ _

__“Are you alright?” Peli asked, “As in, are you injured anywhere?”_ _

__Nati appreciated the distinction._ _

__“No,” she shook her head, “as in, not injured, thanks to the Beskar. How did you two find me?”_ _

__“Happenstance, really,” Peli explained, “We'd just gotten back to the planet and were going to go get take-out when she saw you running.”_ _

__“And you came for me,” the words were out of Nati before she realized it._ _

__“Of course we did!” the Armorer and Peli exclaimed at the same time in two wildly different tones._ _

__“Thank you,” Nati meant it, “I. I'd been chasing a target for _planets_ and my fob went nuts in an abandoned building on the other side of the city from where I parked,” she tried to explain, “and the next thing I knew I was getting shot at from _several directions_ and from the sounds of it they wanted my armor and my weapon but...” she trailed off._ _

__Peli and the Armorer were both watching her, waiting, expectant._ _

__“I think they thought I was Din,” she said, “Which. Not that you could really mistake us, but it sounds like they didn't have a description of him.”_ _

__“What makes you say that?” the Armorer asked, her voice sharp, every bit of her _the covert's Armorer_ in ways she had not been the last time she'd left the covert._ _

__“One of them kept saying _get his saber_ ,” Nati grimaced, thankful her helmet was still on to hide the expression, “Seems like word's gotten out.”_ _

__“Shit,” Peli spat, “I shouldn't be surprised.”_ _

__“What do we do?” Nati hugged herself._ _

__“We find somewhere to lay low for a day or so,” the Armorer said, “We call Din and tell him what happened, tell him to either lie low wherever he, Paz, and Cobb are or pick a more secluded planet. Then we go over what we know beyond the immediate and form a plan from there.”_ _

__“What about the covert?” Nati asked._ _

__“We can call Cara and Omera,” the Armorer said, “and see if they're able to run whatever the covert needs to them.”_ _

__“They don't have a ship,” Peli pointed out._ _

__“Hardly stopped me,” Nati said._ _

__“This is stolen, isn't it?” Peli asked._ _

__“Belonged to a bounty,” Nati told her, “They certainly weren't going to use it again,” she saw Peli's look and added, “The dead kind of not going to use it again.”_ _

__“Okay, fair,” Peli seemed unbothered by this being a dead person's ship._ _

__“Scanning for a near-ish planet that'll be good to lie low on,” the Armorer told the both of them, “How's your fuel?”_ _

__“Good but not great,” Nati frowned, “We'll want to stay within a few hours of somewhere we can refuel.”_ _

__“Noted,” the Armorer seemed to be staring at nothing, even with her helmet on, “Okay, got it, hang on,” she punched in the coordinates, “We'll drop out of hyperspace here in a moment and then start again; that tends to be easier on the nav.”_ _

__“Where did you learn to fly?” Nati asked._ _

__“The Clone Wars,” the Armorer wasn't going to say more than that._ _

__Nati winced, cursing herself for not realizing that was _the only possible answer.__ _

__“You know,” Peli cut the building discomfort, “I'm glad we didn't promise anyone we were going to take a vacation.”_ _

__“You're supposed to be on vacation?” Nati asked._ _

__“Eh,” Peli shrugged and made a gesture to indicate _soft-of-but-not-really_._ _

__“I'm sorry,” Nati let herself drop to a crouch, feet flat on the floor, “some beroya I am.”_ _

__“Nati,” the Armorer's voice was sharp and she was _right there,_ crouched down across from her despite not making a sound when she moved, “a group of mercenaries just came at you _thinking you were Din_ and you got out of there alive.”_ _

__“You helped,” Nati knew she sounded petulant, “How could they not know what Din looked like?”_ _

__“Was the bounty through the Guild?” Peli asked._ _

__“Yeah,” Nati looked up at Peli, “Why?”_ _

__“Until recently the only Mandalorian in the Guild was Din,” she pointed out, “Someone has old information.”_ _

__“Which was fortunate, this time,” the Armorer said, “We won't be so lucky twice.”_ _

__“You keep saying we,” Nati wasn't really complaining, just confused._ _

__“Yeah,” Peli agreed, “we do.”_ _

__“Thanks,” Nati meant it, “for choosing to stick with me, thank you.”_ _

__“It was hardly a choice,” Peli told her, “You needed help and we were there.”_ _

__Nati scoffed but she was smiling._ _

__“Thank you,” she said again, “I'm glad Din managed to pull you into whatever orbit he has, Peli.”_ _

__“Everyone should have a Peli in their lives,” the Armorer said as she stood up._ _

__Peli blushed and Nati knew what bet she was starting when she got back to the covert._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'This will be a short chapter' I told myself. 'Just something to reposition the plot,' I assured myself.
> 
> An actual conversation with someone other than my inner narrator that happened while writing this chapter.
> 
> Me: I'm the only Peli/The Armorer fic on AO3.  
> Wife: Really? Well, you're making someone very happy, even if their story is overshadowed by, you know, the main character.  
> Me: ...I think Nati's the main character at this point...


	75. We All Lift Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There isn't time for aftermath, and Nati refuses to make the time. This is, she fears, just the beginning after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay okay. I know y'all see this is chapter 75/75 BUT I know you cal also see it's also part 1 of a series.
> 
> I've decided to give this story the length, time, and attention it deserves instead of try to keep it in one part. As of right now, there will be three parts total, each one probably around the same length, give or take.
> 
> Teach me to try to guess chapter numbers in advance.

The holo was going off and Cobb was _not_ getting up to answer it.

“Make it stop,” Din's face was buried in the bedding.

“Fine,” Paz muttered, “Come you two, let me up, I'll answer it.”

Cobb and Din did so with a show of protest.

“Better be an emergency.” Cobb said as Paz stood up.

“Careful what you wish for,” Paz told him right before he answered, “Nati?” he asked as the young beroya's face took shape in front of him.

“Nati!?” Din was awake and right there, “What's going on?”

“Bit of a long story,” she sounded terrified, “and I'm afraid I don't exactly understand what's going on.”

“We're here with her,” Peli's voice joined Nati's.

“What?” Cobb was up, too, crowding Din and Paz.

“To keep it brief,” Nati told them, “I _thought_ I was chasing a target but it turned out I walked into a trap and then a whole bunch of people tried to kill me and I _think_ they thought I was Din so I ran for my life and Peli and the Armorer helped me escape and now we're, uh, where are we?”

“Ataloon,” the Armorer said, “Whole planet is all but abandoned, but we're going to have to keep moving, I fear.”

“Uninhabited planets do tend to be bad hiding places,” Din agreed, “Walk me through it, what happened?”

Nati did just that, from the moving target to what she could make out while she was being attacked to how Peli and the Armorer just _showed up._

“She tends to do that,” Din interrupted.

“Which one?” Nati glanced to her side when she asked, “Because I feel like this is a shared trait.”

“I usually wait for people to come to me,” Peli said.

“So,” Din ignored Peli, “we have a _group_ that was fed bad information – specifically that I'm still the Guild's only Mandalorian – and who knows how many people waiting to try again.”

“It sounds to me like they were testing you,” Paz guessed, “It...it's barely been a year since we all lost the covert. If whoever's behind this knows you have the darksaber, they also know about the kid. Put those together...”

“And you send a clueless, disposable group to run the first test,” Nati finished for him.

“Except I don't think that was the first test,” Paz frowned, “That ice-encased nightmare factory...”

Din shuddered.

“The where?” Nati and the Armorer asked.

Din and Paz managed to tell them the entire story in disjointed fits and starts.

“So you survived the first one because Paz was there and the second one because it wasn't you at all,” Nati hugged herself, “Which means someone's using the Guild to try to get to you and make it look like an accident.”

“Or at the very least like I've gotten careless,” Din didn't disagree, “How ready are we all to tell those stories and theories a second time?”

“Already calling Omera,” Peli said, still out of view, “I don't think _ready_ is going to have room for a while, Din.”

–

“Holy shit,” Cara said when everyone was finished catching her up with everything that had happened, including Peli and the Armorer's tiny adventure on Tatooine.

Winta gasped and Omera looked like she might laugh despite knowing there was nothing funny about what had just happened.

“Kinder than my words for it,” Cobb said under his breath.

Paz looked at Cobb and wondered what his words for it had been and when he'd share them.

“Can I be the one to really bring this party down?” Cara asked.

“If that's the burden you're willing to shoulder, go for it,” Peli told her.

“What if,” Cara took a deep breath, “and, I'm just getting these ideas together so they're not all lined up yet, but what if that ice planet deal _wasn't_ the first time?”

“Oh I hate that I have to ask what you mean,” Nati closed her eyes as she said it, “Please don't make me actually ask.”

“Sorgan,” Cara said, “One walker is a fluke but _many_ over several months with _three_ being sent in for the battle that happened almost immediately after you arrived? That's not a fluke. That's not even _close_ to a fluke.”

“Which I _also_ only survived because Paz was there,” Din grumbled and Paz grabbed his thigh and squeezed, a grounding thing just out of everyone else's frame.

“I want to go back to Morak,” Peli said so suddenly everyone else startled. Nati motioned for Peli to come into view before she kept speaking: “Not _right now,_ but. That speeder. I was _working on_ a bunch that were supposed to be in worse condition and none of them had anything that screamed _total engine failure about to happen._ ”

“This keeps getting worse,” Nati said and then covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide.

“Gideon knew...everything about me,” Din shifted, disquieted, “He couldn't have been acting alone, and whoever he had in _whatever_ network he had going isn't going to stop working for him just because he's been imprisoned.”

“This does keep getting worse,” Cara agreed, “What are you guys going to do from here?”

“Refuel,” Nati told her, “Talk to Greef, probably.”

“He won't know anything,” Cara said at the same time Din said, “I'm not sure he's your best lead.”

“I feel like he'll want to know he's sending his hunters to their deaths,” Nati suddenly sounded so much older. Din and Cara, at least, had the decency to look like they'd been chastised. 

“We're all going to need to regroup,” Din said, “Somewhere safe.”

“I don't think us getting the ship is a good idea,” Peli said, “Cara, Omera, Winta, can you three get to Lothal and pick her up?”

“We can,” Omera said, holding Winta a little closer, “Any changes to the ship we should know about?”

“None,” Peli assured them, “Well, laundry's done and sitting on everyone beds.”

“Thank you,” Omera told her, “Freshly cleaned clothes will be nice.”

“Thank her,” Peli looked off-screen and Paz seemed to realize Peli was talking to and about the Armorer at the same time Omera and Cara did.”

“Thank you,” Omera said again, “We'll head out as soon as we can and we'll call you when we're on board.”

“Do _not_ tell us where to meet you before that,” Cara was quick to say, “I hate sounding paranoid, but...”

“It's caution at this point,” the Armorer said from off-screen, “not paranoia.”

“I hate having to be this cautious,” Cara all but spat, “What kind of problem doesn't go away with paperwork _or_ violence?”

“The problems of a King,” the Armorer said, still off-screen, “Be careful, everyone.”

“We'll contact you once we've picked a place to rendezvous,” Peli told everyone, “Until then, assume anything you do is being noticed by someone who's still too far ahead of us to measure properly.”

Nati's and Peli's faces blinked off.

“Be careful, you three,” Omera told Din, Paz, and Cobb.

“You three as well,” Din told them, “You don't...”

“Din Djarin if the next three words out of your mouth are _have to do this_ , I will gut you in your sleep,” Cara informed him.

“That's four words,” Winta tugged at Cara's hand.

Cara counted them on her fingers before she said, “Huh, so it is. Different number, same sentiment.”

“What is it with you lot and gutting each other?” Cobb asked. When everyone stared at him, he told the story of the Armorer threatening to gut Peli peppered with several variations of _I'm not sure this is my story to tell_ throughout it.

Cara, Omera, and Din laughed as he told it. Paz smiled, at least, and at the end said, “At least we know we can't send Peli into a situation alone if there might be an attractive woman involved.”

Din swatter Paz's shoulder and Omera laughed harder.

“Hang on to the laughter,” Cara told them, “and hang on to each other. Whatever's coming is going to being a _looooooot_ of dark days in its wake, but it's less terrible when you have your people beside you.”

“Travel well,” Din told them.

“Be careful,” Cara said again before she, Omera, and Winta's image disappeared.

Cobb exhaled, an over stated thing and Din buried his face in his hands.

“Do you ever say something that winds up haunting you for the rest of your life?” Cobb asked.

“You couldn't have known,” Paz told Cobb as he pulled both Din and Cobb into him, “Fuck.”

“And not in the fun way,” Din muttered, “This is. This is a lot.”

“This is horrible,” Cobb agreed in his own way.

“All three of us have been through worse,” Paz's jaw was set and his eyes _wild_ in ways that reminded Din of the warrior Paz had always wanted to be, “And, sure, it's bad, but we're going to have to keep moving forward. Together. All of us.”

“Who's the anchor now?” Cobb rested his head against Paz.

“Together,” Paz said again, the weight of the single word quite truly an anchor.

“Together,” Din agreed.

“Together,” Cobb reached out and grabbed Din's hand.

 _Together,_ Paz told himself, _this won't be a thing so heavy it crushes us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when this was a oneshot smut piece? Yeah, neither do I.
> 
> I do all my planning on index cards and MAN am I glad I live somewhere that recycles.


End file.
